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VOCAL POETRY, 

OR 

A SELECT COLLECTION 

OP 

MJ^GJLISM SO.NGS. 

> TO WHICH IS PREFIXED, 

AN ESSAY ON SONG WRITING, 

BY JOHN AIKIN, M. D. 



And ever, ag*ainst eating* cares. 
Lap me in soft Lydian airs. 
Married to immortal verse. 

Milton. 



BOSTOJ\r, 

PUBLISHED BY J. BELCHER, CONGRESS STREET; 

J. W. BURDITT AND CO. COURT STREET; 

AND THOMAS AND WHIPPl.E, 

NEWBURYPORT. 

1811. 










l» 







Printed by J. Belcher, 



ADVERTISEMENT. 



X HE Editor of this volume published^ in \772j 
a work entitled " Essays on Song writings with 
a Collection of such English Songs as are most 
eminent for fioetical merit J^ The Essays were 
four in number : one on Song-writing in geU' 
erai ; and one on each of the three classes into 
which the Collection of Songs was distributed. 
The fiieces in the collection itself ivere rather se^ 
lect than numerous ; and principally served as 
exemplifications of the ideas inculcated in the 
Essays relative to the character and diversities 
of this kind of poetical compositions. The vol- 
ume was honoured with a reception which pro^ 
duced a demand for a second edition in 1774. 
For many years past^ this impression has also 
been exhausted^ and copies of the work have 
been only occasionally to be met with. As in^ 
quiries were still from time to time made after it 
among the booksellers^ the FAitor was asked the 
question whether he had any intention of re^ 



IV ABVERTISEMENT. 

firinting it ; accompanied with the intimation^ 
that^ as the cofiy-right was expired^ should he 
decline the business^ others would be ready to un- 
dertake it. Conscious that the Essays were the 
juvenile attempts of one whose taste was by no 
means matured^ and whose critical knowledge 
was circumscribed within narrow limits^ the 
Editor was unwilli7ig that his book should again 
be given to the public with all its imperfections 
on its head. He was obliged^ therefore^ to de- 
clart'^ that if it were reprinted at all^ it should 
be with many material alterations^ corresponding 
to his own change of taste and opinion in various 
points during so long an interval. 

Under these almost compulsory circumstances^ 
although he perhaps ahould not now have chosen 
for th^ first time to appear as the collector of 
productions'^ the general strain of which is more 
suitable to an earlier period ojlife., yei he thought 
he might without impropriety avail himself of 
the opportunity of making a new and much more 
extendve selection of compiositions which will not 
cease to be favourites with the lovers of eLgant 
poetry .^ whatever be the vicissitudes of geiieral 
taste. 

The Edit or J therefore^ in this volume^ which 
is rather a new work^ than the republication of 
an old oncj has made itjiis leading object to col- 



ADVERTISEMENT. V 

lect^ from all the sources within his reach<i those 
pieces o^ the song kind which seemed to himmo^t 
deserving of a place in the mass of approved 
English poetry. And having with some care 
revised his notions respecting the character and 
distinctions of these compositions^ he has pre- 
Jixed a single Essay on Song writings in which 
there is scarcely a sentence copdedfrom his for- 
mer work^ but which is adapted to a new ar^ 
rangement of the seltcted pieces^ and expresses 
his present ideas on the subject. In the collec' 
tion itself the greatest part of the pieces which 
composed the former will be founds with the ad" 
dition of so ?nany as nearly to double the num-^ 
her — some of them written on topics of which 
that gave no example. 

The volume^ such as it is^ is respectfully com- 
mitted to the judgment^ not of the same genera- 
tion of readers which was so i?idulgent to the 
Editor's frst attempt^ but to one from which he 
has on various occasions experienced an equal 
degree of favour, 

J. AIKIK; 

July 20, 1810., 



i* 



AN ESSAY 



SONG WRITING. 



J. HE poetical composition termed a Song is 
essentially characterized by the circumstance 
of being adapted to vocal music ; but this is 
applicable to pieces so various in their style and 
subject, that some discrimination is obviously 
requisite to afford a precise idea of the differ- 
ent kinds of productions which rank under this 
general head. 

The alliance between poetry and music is of 
very ancient date, and appears originally to have 
been constant. The praises of gods and he- 
z'oes, the triumphal strains of happiness and 
victory, and the lamentations of affliction and 
defeat, were sung in measure to the sound of 
the rude instruments which early art had in- 
vented in almost every country of which we 
possess historical records. In process of time, 



O AN ESSAY 

however, as poetry became the vehicle of a 
wider range of sentiment, and of long continued 
narrative, the accornparjiment of music was of- 
ten found inconvenient, and a recitation more 
approaching to common speech was substitut- 
ed ; while the poetical character of the piece 
was sufficiently indicated by a peculiarity of dic- 
tion, and the artifice of versification. How early 
this divorce took place is not ascertained ; but 
it seems probable that the Homeric rhapsodies, 
at some distance from the age of the poet, were 
rather recited, than sung, before those to whom 
the tale of Troy was so interesting a topic. At 
least it is certain that in the later times of cul- 
tivated Greek and Roman poetr\^, the epic, di- 
dactic, pastoral, elegiac, and various other spe- 
cies of poetry were, as with us, simply read or 
repeated. 

Stili, however, a large class of compositions 
was reserved for association with musical tones, 
with the expressions of which their subjects 
were supposed peculiarly adapted to harnion- 
ize ; and under the name of Lyric poetry (de- 
fined by Horace " verba socianda chordis") 
some of the most celebrated productions of the 
Greek and Latin Muses were the objects of 
general adm.iration in their own times, and have 
deUghted all subsequent ages as far as those 



ON SONG WRITING. 9 

languages have been cultivated. These, in- 
deed, have come down to us detached from the 
vocal and instrumental notes to which they were 
originally united ; but they are on that account 
better suited to serve as examples or compari- 
sons for similar compositions of modern times, 
which are for the most part presented equally 
separate from the tunes that may have been once 
accommodated to them, and are merely regard- 
ed as pieces of poetry. It is obviously in this light 
that they must be considered when they have 
become part of the poetical reading of a coun- 
try, addressed to the critical judgment of those, 
who may either be destitute of musical taste, 
or may never have heard the words actually sung 
or played. This must be the case with respect 
to almost all those pieces which can claim an 
antiquity beyond the present generation ; for 
nothing is more short lived than the vocality of 
even the most fashionable song : of course, the 
greatest number of those distinguished for po- 
etical merit must be dead to the singer, and 
existing only to the reader. And when we 
cast our eyes on the trash which modern mu- 
sical composers seem in preference to select 
as the vehicles of their notes, we may be ex- 
cused if, in treating on song writing as a spe- 
cies of poetry, we entirely neglect the circum- 



10 AN ESSAY 

Stance of musical accompaniment, further than 
to regard it as essentictl that neither in point of 
length, nor measure, any obvious unfitness for 
being set to a tune should appear in a composi- 
tion bearing the distinctive appellation of a so77g. 
The Lyric poetry of the ancients compre- 
hended a great variety of topics : indeed, it is 
not easy to say what is rejected that other po- 
etry admitted, except the continued narrative 
of the Epic, and the methodical instruction of 
the Didactic. Homer (if the hymns ascribed 
to him be genuine,) and Callimachus, sung the 
praises of the gods : Pindar celebrated kings 
and the victors in the Grecian games, and also, 
as we learn from Horace, adapted to his lyre 
the pathetic incidents of domestic life. Alce- 
us breathed the lofty sentiments of patriotic he- 
roism. Horace himself mingles hi his lyrical 
miscellany the heroical, the martial, the phi- 
losophical, the tender, the gay, and the am- 
orous, and seems to adapt his measures with 
equal felicity to all. The range of so7igy 
however, as we understand the word, is more 
limited ; for, relinquishing to the odff the more 
elevated subjects and elaborate exertions of the 
lyric muse, it chiefly confines itself to lighter 
topics, and especially delights to express 
the pleasures and pains of love, md the unre- 



ON SONG WRITING. i 1 

istrained hilarity of the convivial board. Not 
that it entirely discards more serious argu- 
ments ; but always having in view a real or 
possible union with vocal music, it regulates it- 
self in its subjects, and the mode of treating 
them, by the usual occasions in which such mu- 
sic is called for. Hence it is precluded from 
the compass, digression, and inequality of mea- 
sure, permitted to the ode ; and for the same 
reason it adopts a simpler and more intelligible 
style of diction ; not, however, rejecting the 
rich and glowing, when suited to the subject ; 
and even demanding in most cases a high de- 
gree of polished elegance. But before we en- 
ter Into further particulars relative to the ar- 
rangement and rules of construction of these 
compositions, it will be necessary to clear the 
way by disposing of the claims to kindred of an 
ambiguous species of production often con- 
founded with a song, namely, the ballad. 

There are few nations which do not possess 
records of the events of early times, especially 
of those in which the public or private valour 
has been signalized, in metrical narratives, 
stamped indeed with the rudeness of the ages 
that produced them, but capable by the force 
of association of exciting the most lively emo- 
tions. Singing these pieces to the sound of 



12 AN ESSAY 

some musical instrument has in many countries 
formed the sole occupation of a class of men, 
who thence have obtained high regard from 
persons of all ranks, and have been the constant 
attendants at solemn and social festivities. To 
these national subjects they frequently added 
legendary and marvellous tales, and remarka- 
ble adventures ; every thing, in short, that could 
interest those who were strangers to all other 
intellectual gratification. Many of these met- 
rical stories ran out to great length, almost 
reaching the measure of epic narration ; but 
notwithstanding the monotony of a perpetually 
recurring tune and measure, they were eager- 
ly listened to by the rustic hearers, whilst pass- 
ing whole nights round the social hearth. 

In process of time, as manners and language 
became more refined, and the art of writing 
brought the productions of the mind to a sever- 
er test than that of the ear, these rude perform- 
ances lost their attraction with the superior 
ranks in society, and were succeeded by others 
displaying more skill and contrivance. And if 
the popularity of national stories rendered them 
still dear to the recollection, they were retold 
in newer and more polished diction, perhaps 
retrenched in their prolixity, and enlivened by 
tenches of sentiment. 1 he two editions of 



ON SONG WRITING. 13 ; 

ihe ballad of Chevy Chase, which may be seen 1 
and compared in Dr. Percy's " Reliques of ; 
Ancient Poetry," form an example of this al- j 
te ration. > 

In the further progress of literary taste, these \ 
compositions came to be considered as objects 
of curiosity on account of the insight they afford- 
ed into the manners and modes of thinking of 
remote times ; while the strokes of nature with 
which they abounded, and the artless simplici- 
ty and strength of their language, excited the 
admiration of liberal critics. When, therefore, 
they had long ceased to be current in popular 
song or recitation, they were carefully collect- 
ed by poetical antiquaries, and elucidated by 
historical notes ; and thus a secondary impor- 
tance was attached to them, scarcely inferiour 
to that which they possessed when chanted to 
the harp of the itinerant minstrel. Admiration 
naturally produced imitation ; and it became a 
trial of skill to counterfeit or copy these re- 
liques of a distant age. The well known col- 
lection of Dr. Percy, above referred to, contains 
numerous specimens both of the genuine and 
the fictitious historical or narrative ballad, and 
was very efficacious in diffusing a taste for these 
compositions. They have, however, lately ap- 
peared with more advantage in the " Minstrel- 



!4 AN ESSAY 

sy of the Scottish Border ;" and some of the 
imitations of these pieces have deviated into 
poetry of a high class. " Lord Ronald" and 
^^ Cadyow Castle" are among the most impres- 
sive of modern productions, and in their story 
and manner greatly surpass such attempts to 
soften and modernize the ballad, as William 
and Margaret, Colin and Lucy, and the Hermit 
of Goldsmith, though the reception given to 
these has justly entitled them to the character 
of pleasing performances. None of these, how- 
ever, equal in beautiful and touching simplicity 
of language some of the French metrical pie- 
Ges termed " Romances," especially those com- 
posed by Moncrif. 

But we are now got beyond the limits of song 
properly so called, since it is evident that a 
great number of stanzas, sung to an uniformly 
repeated simple tune, would be insupportably 
tedious to modern ears ; whence such compo- 
sitions must be considered as addressed merely 
to readers, and be referred to the class of 
minor poetry. There is, however, a numerous 
tribe of vocal productions which, if ballads be 
regarded as forming a division in song writings 
must be ranked under it. These are the pieces 
in which the familiarity, and even vulgarity, of 
phrase of the old ballad, and its occasional lii- 



ON SONG WRITING. i5 

clicrous imagery, have been adopted for the 
sake of humour or sarcasm, and with the ex- 
press purpose of being circulated by the voice. 
Of these, the most copious source is party ; 
and there has seldom been an occasion of polit- 
ical contest in countries permitting such free- 
doms, in which appeal has not been made to 
the popular feelings by means of comic and 
satirical ballads, often with great effect. The 
share that " Lilliburlero'* had in promoting 
the Revolution in this country has been no- 
ticed by grave historians. In the war of the 
Fronde in France, ballads were a weapon as 
much employed as muskets, and those written 
for and against cardinal Mazarin filled several 
volumes. The French give to these compo- 
sitions the appropriate title of Vaudeville^ im- 
plying their fitness to walk the streets ; and 
indeed street-poetry in general belongs to the 
ballad class. The greater number of these 
party productions are too coarse in their texture, 
and too temporary in their topics, to merit pre- 
servation. There are some, however, which 
from their humour and vivacity are still perus- 
ed with pleasure ; and the first wits have not 
disdained to amuse themselves with composing 
them. The ballads of Swift are excellent in 
their kind, and are distinguished by that happy 



16 AN KSSAY 

adaptation of familiar phraseology, and that fa- 
cility of comic rhyming, for which he was so 
famous. No one better than he knew how to 
touch the feelings of the mob ; and whilst he 
was addressing his '^ Drapier's Letters" to the 
coffee-house politician, he cried down Wood 
and his halfpence in the streets of Dublin by 
the aid of the ballad-singer. Of pieces of this 
class, however, 1 shall say no more than just 
to mention, as one of the most excellent, the 
popular song of the '' Vicar of Bray," in which 
the pleasantry is directed rather against the 
trimmer between all parties, than the princi- 
ples of any one party. 

The narrative character of the ancient ballad 
has been preserved in a great number of mod- 
em pieces of this class which turn upon some 
comic adventure, or some incident in ordinary- 
life, and the length of which does not in gener- 
al exceed the limits allowable in a song. That 
there are violations of decorum in many of 
these, cannot be denied ; yet in that respect 
they only partake of the taste of their age in 
more polished compositions ; and they who 
eouid sit out all the dialogue of Congreve's 
" Love for Love," had no reason to retire when 
the sprightly ballad of '^ A Soldier and a Sailor" 
was introduced in it. In the preceding centu- 



ON SONG WRITING. 17 

ly, the courtly Suckling gained great applause 
by his Wedding Ballad, " I'll tell thee, Dick, 
where I have been," which is, indeed, rennark- 
able for the ease of its language and the liveli- 
ness of its imagery. Prior's " Thief and Cor- 
delier*' is as well known as his most elaborate 
productions. Gay, of whom Goldsmith hap- 
pily said, that he had a strain of ballad-thinking, 
has exercised his talent for natural description 
and sentiment with great felicity in his well- 
known ballads of " All in the Downs," and 
" 'Twas when the seas were roaring," the turn 
of which is rather tender and pathetic than gay; 
though some of his other ballads bear the latter 
character. Of the Scotch songs, a number are 
formed upon that humorous delineation of in- 
cidents in common life which is proper to the 
ballad, the diction of which they also imitate in 
the comic snd familiar cast of their dialect. 
That this dialect, however, is capable of the 
true pathetic, is evinced by the fine song or 
ballad of " Robin Gray," which has scarcely 
its equal for the touching effect of a story re- 
lated in the most simple and unaffected man- 
ner, and with no exaggeration of feeling. To 
the list of pieces in which a little tale related in 
familiar language is adapted to vocal music, it 
gives me pleasure to add one of the latest pro- 



18 AN ESSAY 

ductions of a real genius, Mr. Scott, who, in 
his " Marmion," has presented an excellent 
, specimen of the sprightly ballad, divested of 
vulgarity, yet preserving a characteristic ease 
and negligence. 

Another class of compositions of this kind 
might be formed from those martial songs 
which have been written on particular occa- 
sions for the purpose of preserving the memo- 
ry of great actions among the people, and rous- 
ing the national spirit. Naval exploits have 
among us been especially celebrated in those 
ditties, which have doubtless much contributed 
to the popularity of the maritime character. 
The sea-fight at La Hogue was the subject of 
a ballad well known a century ago, and still 
preserved in collections. " Hosier's Ghost,'^ 
written by Glover, had the double purpose of 
panegyrizing the success of admiral Vernon, 
and exciting discontent with the pacific minis- 
try which was unwilling to enter into a war 
with Spain. It is written in a more cultivated 
style than ordinary ballads, yet does not deviate 
from a proper simplicity. Many persons may 
now recollect the first appearance of the popu- 
lar ballad of " Hearts of Oak," celebrating the 
triumphs of the glorious year fifty-nine, and 
have witnessed the warlike enthusiasm which 



ON SONG WRITING. i& 

it inspired in the hearers. It may be thought a 
degradation to the famous national song " Rule, 
Britannia,*' to rank it among these composi- 
tions, since its writer, Thomson or Mallet, ev- 
idently intended to give it a lyrical elevation of 
style and sentiment. Its present use, however, 
assimilates it with the ordinary strains of street 
poetry ; anci it cannot be doubted that it has 
produced a great effect in accustoming Britons 
to the claim of maritime empire. 

From the preceding observations relative to 
the different kinds of ballad writing, it would 
appear that the essentialcharacter of these pro- 
ductions consists in the narrative strain of the 
subject, joined to a familiarity of language, oft- 
en, for comic effect, approaching to vulgarity, 
jind always adapted to popular comprehension. 
It is, in fact, the vocal poetry of the lower class- 
es ; though sometimes its form is a mask put 
on for the purpose of giving a zest to wit and 
satire. It is usual to couple the words with 
some trivial tune already associated with vul- 
gar humour ; and in many ballads, as well as 
in the French vaudevilles, each stanza con- 
cludes with a whimsical combination of un- 
meaning syllables, called a burden. 

There is another species of song, the am- 
biguous nature of which seems to entitle it to a 



^0 AN ESSAY 

separate consideration — that resulting from the 
union of pastoral poetry with vocal music. 
Though the simplicity of language appropri- 
ated to these coiupositions might seem to refer 
them to the ballad class, yet they are separated 
from it by an essential character. Pastoral is 
a species of poetical fiction, in which the man- 
ners and sentiments are derived from an imag- 
inary state of society very different from any 
thing existing in modern times ; it is therefore 
totally opposite to that tale of real life which 
constitutes the proper ballad. Yet, as its pic- 
tures of natural objects are real, and the affec- 
tions of the heart which it paints have an actual 
residence in the human breast, enough of pro- 
bability is retained to render them interesting 
to every one whose heart and fancy are not 
shut against the tender emotions, and the im- 
ages of rural beauty. When these ideas, there- 
fore, have been transferred to song, such com- 
positions have often become general favourites 
with persons of all degrees of mental culture ; 
for they have naturally been clothed in language 
simple, but not coarse ; and in their subjects 
have appealed to feelings common to all ranks. 
Byrom's well-know^n piece " My time, O ye 
Muses," first printed in the Spectator, has 
been familiarized to almost all readers of that 



ON SONG WRITING. 2l 

work, in consequence of some pleasinjj strokes 
of nature, though it contains some thoughts as 
strained and artificial as any thing in Italian 
pastoral. But poets of a much superiour class 
have exercised themselves in the pastoral song 
or ballad. Prior, Rowe, and Gay, have left 
specimens of this kind ; the second of these, 
in my opinion, of superiour merit. His piece 
beginning " Despairing beside a clear stream" 
appears to me a very perfect example of that 
union of simple language with natural senti- 
ment which best suits the kind of fiction adopt- 
ed, and is capable of the most pathetic effects. 
Shenstone has since derived, perhaps, the prin- 
cipal share of his reputation from his perform- 
ances in this walk, for which the tenderness 
of his feelings, and his exquisite taste for the 
beauties of rural nature, peculiarly qualified 
him. His "Pastoral Ballad in four parts," 
though unequal in its composition, has given 
much pleasure to all who were capable of en- 
tering into the delicacies of the soft passion in 
its purest form. Cunningham, his admirer and 
imitator, has at least equalled him in some 
pieces written in his manner. All pastoral po- 
etry, however, it must be acknowledged, tends 
to a. languor and insipidity proceeding from the 
monotony of the imagery and ideas, and the 



22 AN ESSAY 

radical want of that reality which is requisite 
for exciting a lively interest. 

Having thus proceeded through the differ- 
ent forms of kindred and dubious compositions, 
we come at length to whut I should term song 
properly so called, which, as a species of poet- 
ical writing, it is the principal purpose of this 
Essay critically to consider. If language and 
versification resembling the rude efforts of early 
poetry be the characteristic of the ballad, the 
song should be distinguished by the opposite 
qualities of polish and correctness. It likewise 
takes a general distinction from its subjects, 
which do not adn.it of continued narrative, but 
are, rather the expression of emotions and sen- 
timents. A song, then, may be largely defined, 
a short Jioem^ divided into portions of returning 
measure^ adajited to -vocal music^ and turning 
upon sQ7ne single thought or feeling. This defi- 
nition, it will be perceived, leaves a wide scope 
for particular subjects ; and indeed I know of 
no other limitation in this respect than such as 
arises from the propriety of introducing some 
topics, and excluding others, on the occasions 
in which song is usually in request. The an- 
cients, whose theological system comprised 
deities of all functions and characters, could ally 
to the most jocund strains of the lyric Muse 



ON SONG WRITING. 23 

the form of a hymn to Vemis, Cupid or Bac- 
chus. The purity of modern religion will not 
admit any union of tliat kind ; and therefore, 
although devout hymns have synonymously 
been called Spiritual Songs, yet a broad line of 
distinction is draw^n between them and the vocal 
strains meant for amusement. Moral topics, 
however, have not been entirely excluded from 
song writing, and several pleasing productions 
of this kind exist, in which content, moderation, 
and the tranquil enjoyment of life, are incul- 
cated. 

There is another fund of moral sentiment, if 
it may be so termed, from which both ancient 
lyric poetry and modern songs have drawn 
deeply. This is the epicurean system of eth- 
ics, which, from the consideration of the short- 
ness of life, and the uncertainty of human af- 
fairs, derives an incentive to present pleasure. 
This theme we find perpetually recurring in 
the Odes of Anacreon and Horace, whence it 
has been transplanted into the gay and vocal 
poetry of modern times, of which it constitutes 
the prevailing strain of sentiment. In a cer- 
tain temperate degree it coalesces with the ra- 
tional philosophy before mentioned. When 
carried further, it may justly excite the cen- 
sure of the moralist, whatever indulgence be 



24 AN ESSAY 

pleaded for it on the grounds of precedent and 
poetical fitness. Yet as Milton, in his " Comus" 
has not scrupled to let the advocate of pleasure 
be heard, and that, in veiy persuasive language, 
trusting to the counteraction of more solid ar- 
guments in favour of sobriety, it might per- 
haps be excess of rigour to banish from song 
poetry every lively effusion of this kind. 

The pleasures which this lax morality of po- 
ets has been chiefly employed to excuse and 
vanish, have at all times been those of love and 
wine, allowable, indeed, in a certain degree to 
exhilarate the anxious lives of mortals, but al- 
ways prone to pass the bounds of moderation. 
Music has lent a willing aid to these incite- 
ments ; and the classes of amorous and drink- 
ing songs have in all languages been the most 
copiously furnished. There is, however, a 
great difference in the variety and compass of 
intellectual ideas afforded by these two sources 
of enjoyment. The bacchanalian has little 
more scope in his lyric effusions, than to ring 
changes upon the hilarity, or rather delirium, 
inspired by his favourite indulgence, which puts 
to flight all the suggestions of care and melan- 
choly, and throws the soul into that state of fe- 
licity which springs from exalted animal spirits, 
and a temporary suspension of the reasoning 



@N SONG WRITING. fJ5 

faculties. The essence, therefore, of this kind 
of pleasure, if such it can be called, is an ex- 
cess — something gross and degrading adverse 
to thought, and therefore barren of sentiment. 
The ingenuity of poets has, indeed, connected 
it with a vivacity of imagination that is very 
captivating, especially when enforced by the 
presence of the flowing bowl and jovial com- 
, panions ; and it must be confessed that actual 
singing is seldom so heartily enjoyed as in the 
chorus of a convivial party. But, without such 
an accompaniment, the drinking song flattens 
upon the perusal, and its glowing expressions 
appear little better than extravagant. It is 
likewise apt to sink into coarseness and vulgar- 
ity ; so that the more select collections of vocal 
poetry will bear but a small admixture of these 
compositions, which succeed so well in " set- 
ting the table in a roar." 

Love, on the other hand, is an inexhaustible 
source of description and sentiment, in which 
all the faculties of the soul may be displayed in 
their operations, and almost every object in na- 
ture may find a place as an image of compari- 
son or illustration. It can assume every differ- 
ent colour : it can be rapturous, tender, gay 
and ingenious ; and under all these appearances 
can happily ally itself with the language of po- 
3 



iO AN ESSAY 

eliy and the tones of music. Love, therefore, 
in all ages and countries has afforded the most 
copious store of matter to song writers ; and 
there is no circumstance belonging to this pas- 
sion which has not been made the subject of 
either the grave or the lively strains of the lyr- 
ical Muse. 

There is, however, a great difference in the 
manner in which different poets have treated on 
amatory topics. In early times, when poetry 
was the genuine and direct expression of the 
feelings of the heart, to give to this expression 
all the force of glowing language and imagery, 
united with the melody of versification, was the 
study of the poet, whether speaking in his own 
person, or in that of another. The admired 
specimen remaining of the strains in which 
Sappho poured foith the breathings of a soul 
devoted to the amorous passion is an example 
of the earnestness which nature, cultivated, but 
not distorted, dictates to those who really feel 
the emotions they undertake to describe. This 
natural mode of writing has been, and ever 
will be, adopted by ardent and sensible minds, 
and will excite sympathetic feelings in kindred 
bosoms, whatever may be the changes of fash- 
ion or the refinements of art. It is limited to 
no age or country ; and its ideas are transfera- 



ON SONG WRITING. '17 

ble from one language to another without al- 
teration. A version from Sappho or Horace 
may appear as an English love-song ; and in 
fact, such versions, or imitations of them, have 
stood at the head of those songs which, in an 
arrangement formed upon manner rather than 
subject^ would class among the fia:sdonate and 
descriptive. In these pieces love appears in 
its various forms of desire, admiration, jealousy, 
hope, despair, suggesting a language warm, 
rich and figurative. 

But in the progress of mental cultivation, it 
is always found that the love of refinement oxk 
the ambition of novelty causes various individ- 
uals in all the arts to desert the plain and origin 
nal mode of exercising them, and substitute 
something of greater curiosity. Thus, in po- 
etry, uncommon thoughts and fanciful concep- 
tions have at certain periods taken place of na- 
tural description ; and metaphysical subtleties 
have been pursued, to the neglect of the siiapie 
expressions of feeling. In no poetical depart- 
ment has this change of manner been more 
conspicuous than in Song writing. Already, 
in the sonnets and canzone of Petrarch and oth- 
er Italians, had love assumed the character of 
an assemblage of strained and refined senti- 
ments, derived from every artifical light m 



28 AN ESSAY 

which th6 passion aiid its objects could be 
viewed, and entertained rather as an exercise 
of the wit, than as a concern of the heart. Tiiis 
mode of treating it was copied by other nations 
as they advanced in lettered politeness ; and the 
poems of which love was the subject became 
tissues of singular and far-fetched thoughts, 
often highly ingenious, but very remote from 
the suggestions of real passion. Song-writers 
o^mmonly took up one of these thoughts, which 
after some turning and twisting, and perhaps 
adorning with a simile, they brought to a kind 
of epigrammatic point. Such is the idea of 
this composition inculcated by Ambrose Phil- 
lips in the Guardian, No. 26, and illustrated by 
two specimens. For the perfection of a song 
he requires " an exact purity of style, with the 
most easy and flowing numbers, an elegant and 
unaffected turn of wit, with one uniform and 
simple design ;" and he further says that it 
^' should be conducted like an epigram ; and 
that the only difference between them is, that 
the one does not require the lyric numbers, 
and is usually emp oyed upon satirical occa- 
sions, whereas the business of the other is to 
express 

'^ Move's pleasing cares, and the free joys of wine.'* 



ON SONG WRITING. 29 

To the French, Phillips assigns the reputa- 
tion of surpassing all nations in the excriience 
of their songs, though he intimates that they 
are apt to confound song with epigram. A 
similar confusion Congreve, in his '' Double- 
Dealer," attributes to the lively coxcomb, 
Brisk, when he repeats a piece which he calls 
"an epigrammatic sonnet.'* 

Now, although I cannot but be of opinion 
that song composed upon this principle devi- 
ates from the origmal model, and is less adapt- 
ed to that union with music which enhances the 
power of both in exciting emotions, (for musi- 
cal notes seem to have no correspondence with 
intellectual notions.) yet it must be acknowl- 
edged that many very pleasing productions 
have been the result of this idea of song-writ- 
ing ; and that, in a collection for reading, the 
class of ingenious and ivitty songs would be 
found peculiarly attractive. 

In an arrangement of songs according to their 
subjects, a place would be claimed by the lov- 
ers of the chase for Hunting-songs^ than which 
none are actually sung with higher glee, though 
their merit often arises more from tiie musical 
composer than the writer. Some of these are 
in the narrative strain, and rather belong to the 
ballad class. Many have a bacchanalian close, 



30 AN ESSAY 

which, doubtless, contributes to the animation 
with which they are rehearsed by the convivial 
party relaxmg from the fatigues of the day. 

It appears very strange that one of the di- 
visions in English vocal compositions should 
be that of Mad Songs. I suspect these to be 
entirely national, corresponding to the mad 
characters which are so common in the dra- 
matis personae of our plays. The songs under 
this title are generally distinguished by an in- 
coherent rant, which costs much less to the 
indention than the development and decoration 
of a rational idea. If a song can with any ad- 
vantage be framed upon the supposed concep- 
tions of a lunatic, it must be one in which some 
prevailing idea, the cause and essence of the 
madness, is pursued in a wild but not uncon- 
nected strain, with varied the fanciful image- 
ry. The effect of such a piece, aided by suit- 
able music, may be singularly touching ; of 
which an example is given by the song of " The 
3Iaid in Bedlam." Some short, but very sweet 
and characteristic songs of this kind are assign- 
ed to the Bertha of Miss Bailhe's " Ethwald." 

It remains to add a few words on the sources 
whence the best English songs are to be de- 
rived. 



ON SONG WRITING. SI 

It might be expected that the writers who 
have best succeeded in other poetical effusions 
would also excel in this ; for taste and genius 
are not confined to particular walks in the same 
art, but display themselves in all that they at- 
tempt. And in fact, when great poets have 
chosen to unbend in these minor exertions, 
they have generally exhibited the master-hand. 

Among the occasional and nruscellaneous po- 
etry which forms a department in the works of 
our most eminent writers, are generally found 
some pieces of the song kind, not unworthy of 
their reputation. A greater number, however, 
are to be met with in the volumes of those mi- 
nor poets whose powers or exertions have nev^ 
er reached to compositions of the highest order, 
but have been particularly employed on per- 
formances of the light and amusing class. Of 
these, 



-the wits of either Charles's days. 



The mob of g-entlemen who wrote with ease," 

were examples ; though, for the most part, 
that ease degenerated into a negligence which 
prevented them from polishing their strains lo 
the requisite degree. Their licentiousness, like- 
wise, imparted a taint to most of their produc- 
tions ; and even sometimes appeared in a 



32 AN ESSAY 

coarseness of language little corresponding with 
what might be expected in the style of men of 
fashion. Many sprightly and unexceptionable 
songs, however, have been composed by writers 
of the preceding description, both in earlier and 
later periods ; and upon the whole, the works 
of the minor poets may be reckoned the most 
copious store of these pieces. Among these 
may be included such as have appeared, mostly 
anonymously, in collections of fugitive and mis- 
cellaneous poetry, often written by persons who 
have taken up the pen only for occasional 
amusement, hut have been well qualified to be- 
stow upon short compositions the care and polish 
requisite to give them value. Even the more 
respectable of the periodical publications afford 
specimens of song writing, the early attempts 
of young poets, which are pleasingly marked 
with the ^varm feelings and active imagination 
characteristic of that period of life. 

Plays, particularly those of the last and the 
preceding century, frequently introduce songs 
in their scenes, some of which are composed 
in the best style. Congreve has one in each 
of his comedies ; and indeed audiences at this 
time seem regularly to have expected such an 
addition to their entertainment. They were 
written sometimes by the dramatist himself, 



tDN SONG WRITING. SS 

and sometimes by a friend ; and not unfrequent- 
ly are superior in their kind to the piece which 
they accompany. It might have been expect- 
ed that the modern introduction of comic ope- 
ras on our stage, would have afforded an abund- 
ant store of approved songs, since musical airs 
are an essential part of those dramas ; but, 
whether from the inferior poetical talents of 
those who have been employed in these works, 
or from the circumstance of the songs being 
written to the tunes, instead of these being 
composed to the songs, it is a fact, that very 
few are to be found in them deserving a place 
in a standing collection. Still less aid can be 
procured from the pieces written for the or- 
chestras of the public gardens, and other places 
of amusement, which are for the most part 
extremely contemptible. 

There is scarcely, I believe, any other in- 
stance of the composition of songs for the ex- 
press purpose of forming part of a collection, 
than the recent one of Burns, whose latest po* 
etical exertions were made for the service of a 
spirited collector of Scottish vocal poetry. Re- 
garding his work as a national publication, he 
enriched it with many pieces of siugular merit, 
both of the tender and the humorous kind ; and 
indeed no modern poet seems to have possess- 



34 AN ESSAY 

ed so happy a talent for song writing, when 
his taste was not contaminated by his habits of 
vulgar excess. 

From the different sources above enume- 
rated, a nunaber of these pleasing compositions 
may be selected, which will do honour to Eng- 
lish genius, and are well entitled to preserva- 
tion as a portion of the mass of national poetry, 
even independently of their association with 
some of the most agreeable strains of musical 
harmony. Such a selection has been the ob- 
ject of the present editor ; am' although he is , 
well aware that an uniformity of judgment re- 
specting the admission and rejection of par- 
ticular pieces cannot be expected, he presumes 
to hope that he shall not be thought chargeable 
in general either with inserting mean, vulgar, 
and improper articles, or with omitting those of 
acknowledged and decided excellence. There 
exists, indeed, a numerous class of pieces of a 
middle rank, many of which, by musical or 
other associations, may have been rendered fa- 
vourites to individual readers, who will be dis- 
appointed at not finding them in the list ; but 
it has been much more a point with the editor 
to give a select than a comprehensive collec- 
tion. 



ON SONG WRITING. 35 

After much consideration respecting ar- 
rangement, the following plan was adopted as 
most correspondent with the editor's ideas 

The first place is allotted to Pastoral *Songs^ 
and a few of those compositions termed Bal" 
lads^ which, in their manner and subject, have 
the greatest affinity with the pieces composing 
the body of the collection. 

Of Songs more properly so called, the first 
division consists of the Moral and Miscellane- 
ous, Of the former of these, such have been 
chosen as inculcate a kind of calm and reason- 
able philosophy, not so severe as to be incon- 
sistent with the cheerfulness of vocal music in 
society, and corresponding with some of the 
sober strains of the Horatian lyre. 

A very scanty assortment of Convivial 
Songs succeeds, dedicated to the festal board, 
and imitating the gaiety and freedom of the 
Anacreontic lays. It was impossible altogeth- 
er to omit a class so universally received into 
Song collections ; but as I feel no ambition to 
be regarded as a priest of Bacchus, 1 have lim- 
ited my choice to a small specimen of those 
which have been inspired by wit and poetry^ as 
well as by wine. 

The great bulk of the volume is composed 
of Amatory Songs, which so much exceed all 



36 AN ESSAY 

Others in number, that Cupid maybe regarded 
as the peculiar deity of song writers. In these 
will be found every kind of expression of the 
passion of love, and the circumstances attend- 
ing it ; with the exception of such as would 
give just offence to delicacy. It has already 
been hitimated that there have been two pre- 
vailirg manners of treating on this affection by 
the authors of these compositions — the pas- 
uonate and descrifitive^ and the witty and ingC" 
nious. Yet as they are frequently blended, so 
as to render it doubtful to which class a piece 
could with most propriety be referred, no ab- 
solute division into two classes has been at- 
tempted, but they have been arranged on the 
general idea of proceeding from the purely 
passionate to the purely ingenious, leaving a 
large intermediate space for those of dubious 
or complex character. 

If I were to pronounce in what class of those 
compositions our English song writers have 
displayed the greatest degree of excellence, 
I should say, in that which contains the tender 
and ardent expression of the amorous passion ; 
and particularly in those which describe the 
symptoms and indications of love — atopic ori- 
ginally derived from Sappho's celebrated ode, 
hut dwelt upon with much additional detail of 



ON SONG WRITING. 37 

circumstances in several of the pieces here in- 
serted. I am mistaken if more truih and del- 
icacy of representation can be met with in the 
amatory poets of any other language, ancient 
and modern ; and it is pleasing to observe that 
many of the best specimens are distinguished 
by an air of sincerity and faithful attachment, 
equally remote from licentious heat and from 
frivolous gallantry. 

Notes have been occasionally annexed to par- 
ticular compositions by way of critical remark 
or information. The assignment of pieces to 
their respective authors has been made as cor- 
rectly as my inquiries would enable me to do 
it ; but there are still some of disputable prop- 
erty, and too many, even of the best, entirely 
anonymous. 



I doubt not that every reader will be gratified 
by my concluding this Essay with the following 
piece from Mrs. Barbauld's Poems, addressed 
to me as the author of the work which was the 
predecessor of the present volume. — 



THE 



ORIGIN OF SONG WRITING. 



Illic indocto primum se exercuit arcu ; 

Hei mini C|uam doctas nunc habet ille manus ! 



When Cupid, wanton boy, was young". 
His wings unfledg-ed, and rude his tongue. 
He loiter'd in Arcadian bowers. 
And hid his bow in wreaths of flowers ; 
Or pierced some fond unguarded heart 
With now and then a random dart; 
But heroes scorn'd the idle boy. 
And love was but a shepherd's toy: 
When Venus, vext to see her child 
Amidst the forests thus run wild, 
Would point him out some nobler game, 
Gods and godlike men to tame. 
She seized the boy's reluctant hand, 
And led him to the virgin band. 
Where the sister Muses round 
Swell the deep majestic sound. 
And in solemn strains unite. 
Breathing chaste, severe delight : 
Songs of chiefs, and heroes old. 
In unsubmitting virtue bold; 



THE ORI&IN OF SONG WRITING. 29 

Of even valour's temperate heat. 
And toils to stubborn patience sweet ; 
Of nodding" plumes and burnisht arms. 
And glory's bright terrific charms. 

The potent sounds like lightning dart 
Resistless through the glowing heart ; 
Of power to lift the fixed soul 
High o'er fortune's proud control ; 
Kindling deep, prophetic musing. 
Love of beauteous death infusing ; 
Scorn, and unconquerable hate 
Of tyrant pride's unhallow'd state^ 
The boy abash'd and half afraid. 
Beheld each chaste immortal maid : 
Pallas spread her aegis there ; 
Mars stood by with threat'ningair ; 
And stern Diana's icy look 
With sudden chill his bosom struck. 

*^ Daughters of Jove, receive the child," 
The queen of beauty said and smiled: 
(Her rosy breath perfumed the air. 
And scatter'd sweet contagion there ; 
Relenting nature learnt to languisbp 
And sicken'd with delightful anguish :) 
** Receive him, artless yet and young ; 
Refine his air, and smooth his tongue ; 
Conduct him through your favorite bowers, 
Enrich'dwith fair perennial flowers. 
To solemn shades, and springs that lie 
Remote from each unhallow'd eye ; 
4 — 2 



40 THE ORIGIN OF SONG WRITING. 

Teach him to spell those mystic names 
That kindle bright immortal flames ; 
And guide his young unpractised feet 
To reach coy Learning's lofty seat,'* 

Ah luckless hour ! mistaken maids! 

When Cupid sought the Muses' shades ; 

Of their sweetest notes beguiled 

By the sly insidious child, 

Now of power his darts are found 

Twice ten thousand times to wound. 

Now no more the siacken'd strings 

Breathe of high immortal things. 

But Cupid tunes the Muses' lyre 

To languid notes of soft desire : 

In every clime, in every tongue, 

^Tis love inspires the poet's song. 

Hence Sappho's soft infectious page ; 

Monimia's woe, Othello's rage ; 

Abandoned Dido's fruitless prayer. 

And Eloisa's long despair ; 

The garland, blest with many a vow. 

For haughty Sacharissa's brow; 

And, wash'd with tears, the mournful verse 

That Petrarch laid on Laura's hearse. 

But more than all the sister quire. 
Music confess'd the pleasing fire. 
Here sovereign Cupid reign'd alone; 
Music and song were all his own. 
Sweet as in old Arcadian plains. 
The British pipe has caught the strains ; 



THE ORIGIN or SONG WRITING. 41 

And where the Tweed's pure current glides. 
Or LifFy rolls her limpid tides, 
Or Thames his oozy waters leads 
Through rural bowers or yellow meads, 
With many an old romantic tale 
Has cheer'd the lone sequester'd vale ; 
With many a sweet and tender lay 
Deceived the tiresome summei day. 

'Tis yours to cull with happy art 

Each meaning" verse that speaks the heart. 

And fair array'd in order meet 

To lay the \vreath at Beauty's feet. 



4 — 3 



CONTENTS. 



A Page. 

WRETCH long tortured with disdain, 216 

Ah ! Chloris, could I now but sit - - 250 
Ah, how sweet it is to love ! Dryden. - - 146 
Ah stay ! ah turn ! ah whither would you fly, 

Congreve. 134 
Ah ! tell me not that jealous fear - - 136 
Ah ! tell me no more, my dear g-irl, with a sigh, 

Wolcott, U7 
Ah ! the shepherd's mournful fate ! Hamilton. 113 
Ah ! why must words my flame reveal ? - 124 
Alexis shunn'd his fellow swains, Prior, - 68 
Ail in the Downs the fleet was moor'd Gay, 55 
All my past life is mine no more, Rochester, 234 
As Amoret with Phyllis sat Sir Car Scrope. 173 
As on a summer's day Rowe. - _ - 64 
As near a weeping spring" reclined J\frs,Barbauld. 133 
As the snow in valleys lying, - - - "247 
Awake, awake, my lyre ! Cowley. - - 210 

Away, let nought to love displeasing, G. Cooper. 179 

Blest as the immortal Gods is he, ^. Phillips. 112 
Born in yon blaze of orient sky, Darimi. - 101 
Boast not, mistaken swain, thy art, A. Phillips. 204 
Busy, curious, thirsty fly ! - . . 107 

4 — 4 



44 CONTENTS. 

By my sighs you may discover . - - 138 

By the gaily-circling glass Balton. - - lOf 

Can love be controled by advice ? Berkeley. 174 

Can loving father ever prove - - - 168 

Celia, hoard thy charms no more — - - 245 

Ceiia, too late you would repent, Walsh. - 248 

Child, with many a childish wile, Joanna Baillie. 194 

Chloe brisk and gay appears, - - - 243 

Chloe's the wonder of her sex, Lansdoivn. - 238 

Chloris, yourself you so excel Waller. - 257 
Come, all ye youths whose hearts e'er bled 

Otway. 163 

Come, dear Amanda ! quit the town, - - 87 
Come here, fond youth, whoe'er thou be 

Mrs, BarbauUl 126 
Come, let us now resolve at last 

Sheffield^ Duke of Buckingham. 161 
Come, shepherds, we'll follow the hearse, 

C^inniugham. 81 

Come, tell me where the maid is found Little. 256 

Come, thou rosy-dimpled boy, Parrat. - 141 

Corinna cost me many a prayer, - - - 22^ 

Corinna in the bloom of youth, Lansdoton. 224 

Cupid, forbear thy childish arts ; - - 201 

Cupid, instruct an amorous swain - - - 237* 

Cynthia frowns whene'er I woo her, Congreve. 217 

Daphnis stood pensive in the shade. Gay. 6& 

Dear Chloe, while thus beyond measure - 177 

Dear Colin, prevent my warm blushes, - - 226 

Dear is my little native vale, Rogers. - 96 



CONTENTS. 45 

Despairing beside a clear stream, Rowe, - 62 

Dorinda's sparkling wit and eyes - - 221 

Dried be that tear,|my gentlest love, Sheridan* 135 

Fair Amoret is gone astray, Congreve, - 218 

Fair, and soft, and gay, and young, - - 169 

Fickle bliss, fantastic treasure, - - - 202 

For ever. Fortune, wilt thou prove Thomson. 176 
From all uneasy passions free, 

Sheffield, Duke of Buckingham, 161 

From her, alas I whose smile was love, Wolcott. 114 

From place to place, forlorn, I go Steele. - 166 
From tiiy waves, stormy Lannow,! ^y^ A.Seward. 154 

Gentle air, thou breath of lovers, - - 195 

Give me more love or more disdain ; Caretv. 219 

Go, lovely rose ! Waller. - . - - 2o2 

Go, plaintive sounds ! and to the fair Hamilton. 157 

Go tell Amynta, gentle swain. Dry den. - 115 
Good madam, when ladies are willing, 

Ladif M. TV. Montagu. 227 

Hail to the myrtle shade, Lee. - - - 153 

Hard is the fate of him who loves, Thomson. 129 

Have you not seen the timid tear Little. - 260 

He that loves a rosy cheek, Carew. - - 190 

Honest lover, whosoever. Suckling. - 122 

How bright the sun*s declining rays J*. Conder. 185 

I do confess thou'rt smootli and fair, - - 208 

I did but look and love awhile, Oiway. - 140 

1 have a silent sorrow here, B. B. Sheridan. 166 



46 CONTENTS. 

I mark'd his madly-rolling eye, W. - - 103 

I pr'ythee send me back my heart. Suckling. 212 
I talk'd to my fluttering heart, Laura S. Temple. 95 
I tell thee, Charmion, could I time retrieve, 

Congreve. 223 

If in that breast, so good, so pure. Sir J. Moore. 137 

If truth can fix thy wavering heart, Garrick. 233 

If ever thou dist joy to bind Mrs. BarbaulcL 131 

It is not, Celia, in our power Ethericlge. - 209 

If Love and Reason ne'er agree - - - 187 

If the quick spirit of your eye Carew. - 249 

If wine and music have the power. Prior. - 121 

In Chloris all soft charms agree, John Hoxve. 219 

In vain you tell your parting lover Prior. - 117 

In vain, dear Chloe, jou suggest Wolcott. - 258 

In vain, fond youth ! thy tears give o'er - 182 
It was a winter's evening', and fast came down 

the snow - - - - J. A, 5S 

Kitty's charming voice and face - - 151 

Late when love I seem'd to slight, 

Laura, thy sighs must now no more W. Smyth. 

Lesbia, live to love and pleasure, Langhorne. 

Let ambition fire thy mind, Congre've. 

Let not love on me bestow Steele. 

Let the ambitious favour find Dorset. 

Love arms himself in Celia's eyes - - - 

Love still has som.ething of the sea Sedley. 

Love's a dream of mighty treasure - 

Love 's but the frailty of the mind Congreve. 

liUcy, I think not of thy beauty, Matilda Betham. 93 



CONTENTS. 47 

Mirth! be thy mingled pleasures mine, ^'o^Ae^z/. Ill 
Mortals, learn your lives to measure - 106 

My banks they are furnish'd with bees, Shemtone. 74 
My dear mistress has a heart Rochester. - 159 
My love was fickle once and changing*, - 205 

No glory I covet, no riches I want, - - 84 

Not, Celia, that I juster am Sedley. - - 209 

Not on beds of fading flowers Dalton. - - 90 

Now see my goddess, earthly born, - - 144 

O clear that cruel doubting brow ! 

Bryan Edwards. 241 

O memory ! thou fond deceiver. Goldsmith. 92 

O Nancy, wilt thou go with me, Percy. - 180 

O Nymph ! of Fortune's smiles beware Wolcott. 198 
O'er moorlands and mountains, rude, barren 

and bare, - - Cunningham. 82 

Oft on the troubled ocean's face - - - 162 

Oh ! Henry, sure by every art W. Smyth. J 84 

Oh ! turn away those cruel eyes, - - 244 

Oh ! what is the gain of restless care, W. Smyth. 87 
Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, 

Walter Scott. 59 

On Belvidera's bosom lying, A. Phillips. - 203 

On every hill, in every grove, Dalton. - 116 
One morning very early, one morning in the 

spring, 57 

Preach not to me your musty rules, Dalton. 106 
Prepared to rail, resolved to part, Lansdo-wn. \62 



48 CONTENTS. 

Pretty parrot, say, when I was away, - 239 

Pursuing beauty, men descry - - . 255 

Round Love's Elysian bowers Montgomery, 194 

Say, lovely dream, where couldst thou find 

Waller. 251 
Say, Myra, why is g-entle love Lyttleton. - 210 
Say not, Olinda, I despise - - - . 197 
Say, sweet carol ! who are they Joanna Baillie. 99 
Send home my long-stray'd eyes to me, Donne. 230 
Shall I, wasting in despair, G. yVither. - 206 
She loves, and she confesses too ; Coivley. - 252 
Should some perverse malignant star - 259 

Slow spreads the gloom my soul desires, Burns. 164 
Stella and Flavia every hour Mrs. Pilkington. 257 \ 
Still to be neat, still to be drest, B. Jonson, 191 
Strephon has fashion, v.^it and youth, 

Mrs. Taylor. 200 
Strephon, when you see me fly - - - 139 
Swain, thy hopeless passion smother, - - 236 
Sweetmaid, I hear thy frequent sigh, Mrs. Opie. 134 

Take, oh take those lips away - - - 229 
Tease me no more, nor think I care Dr. Glynn. 222 
fell me no more how fair she is ; 

Kingj Bishop of Chichester. 154 
rell my Strephon that I die ; - - - 165 
That which her slender waist confined Waller. 231 
The gloomy night is gathering fast, Burns. 9? 
The Graces and the wandering Loves - - 193 



CONTENTS. 49 

The heavy hours are almost past Lyttleton. 120 

The merchant to secure his treasure Prior. 243 
The rose had been wash'd, just vvash'd in a 

shower, Cowper. - - - - 94 

The shape alone let others prize, Akenside. 149 

The sun was suuk beneath the hill, - - 70 

The tears I shed must ever fall ! Miss C, 130 

The thirsty earth drinks up the rain, Corvlej/, 109 
The wretch condemn'd with life to part 

Goldsmith. 92 

The wretch O let me never know Wolcott, 182 

There is one dark and sullen hour - - l&T 

There lives a lass upon the green, - - 189 

Think no more, my gentle maid, J. A. • 175 

Tho' cruel you seem to my pain, Carey, - 170 
Thro' groves sequester'd, dark and still, 

Baivkesworth. 85 

Th\ fatal shafts unerring* move, Smollet. - 113 

'Tis not the liquid brightness of those eyes, 148 

'Tis now, since I sat down before Suckling'. 253 
To fair Fidele's grassy tomb Collins. - - 98 
To the brook and th^ willow that heard him 

complain, - - - - Eowe. 65 
Too plain, dear youth, these tell-tale eyes 

Soame Jenyns. lo7 

»Twas when the seas were roaring, Gay. - 5o 

Vain are the charms of white and red 

Fulteney, E. of Bath. 243 

Waft me, some soft and cooling breeze, 

Lansdoxvn. 88 



I 



50 CONTENTS. 

What beauties does Flora disclose \ - - 71 

What dreaming drone was ever blest JV. Smyth, 102 

What man in his wits had not rather be poor, 86 

What ! put off with one denial, - - - 225 

What shade and what stillness around ! Wolcott. 212 

When charming Teraminta sings, - - - 159 
When clouds that angel face deform, 

Theoph. Swift. 201 

When Delia on the plain appears Lyttleton. 123 
When fair Serena first I knew, T. Seivard, M. A. 234 

When Fanny blooming fair Chesterfield, - 143 
When first I sought fair Celia's love, 

Soame Jenyns. 228 

When first I saw thee graceful move, - - 140 
When first upon your tender cheek 

Mrs. Barbauld. 188 

When gentle Celia first I knew, Mrs. Barbauld. 186 

When I drain the rosy bowl Fa-ivkes, - 108 

When lovely woman stoops to folly. Goldsmith. 93 
When Orphus went down to the regions below, 

Lisle, 242 
When Sappho tuned the raptured strain, Sinollet, 157 

When your beauty appears Parnel. - - 173 
Whence comes my love ? O heart ! disclose : 

Sir J. Harrington, 192 

While from my looks, fair nymph, you guess 119 

While in the bower with beauty blest - 156 

While silently I loved, nor dared - - - 205 

While, Strephon, thus you tease one Whistler. 149 

While Strephon in his pride of youth - - 215 

Whilst I fondly view the charmer, - - 213 

Why, cruel creature, why so bent Lansdotm, 176 



CONTENTS. 51 

AVhy, Delia, ever while I gaze - - . 118 

Why, lovely charmer, tell me why, - - 199 

Why so pale and wan, fond lover ? Suchling. 191 

Why we love, and why we hate, Phillips, 226 
Why will Delia thus retire. 

Lady M. W. Montagu. 240 

Why will Florella, while I gaze, - - 260 

Why will you my passion reprove ? Shenstone, 77 

Wine, wine in the morning - - - - 110 

Woman, thoughtless, giddy creature, - 215 
I Wouldst thou know her sacred charms Hamilton. 151 

' Ye happy swains, whose hearts are free 

Etheridge. 172 

Ye little loves, that round her wait - - 236 

I Ye mariners of England, Campbell. - - 104 
Ye shepherds and nymphs that adorn the gay 

plain, - - - - Hamilton. 171 

Ye shepherds, give ear to my lay, Shenstone. 79 

Ye shepherds so cheerful and gay, Shenstone. 72 

Ye virgin powers, defend my Heart - - 199 

Yes, fairest proof of beauty's power. Prior. 116 

Yes, Fulvia is like Venus fair, Shenstone. 222 

Yes, I'm in love, I feel it now. Whitehead. 235 

You tell me that you truly love ; - - 128 

Young I am, and yet unskilled - - - 197 



BALLADS 



AND 



PASTORAL SONGS. 



X WAS when the seas were roaring 

With hollow blasts of wind, 
A. damsel lay deploring". 

All on a rock reclined : 
Wide o'er the foaming billows 

She cast a wishful look, 
Her head was crown'd with willows 

That trembled o'er the brook. 

** Twelve months are gone and over 

And nine long tedious days ; 
Why didst thou, \ ent'rous lover. 

Why didst thou trust the seas ? 
Cease, cease, thou cruel ocean. 

And let a lover rest : 
Ah ! what's thy troubled motion 

To that within my breast ? 
5 



54 BALLADS AND 

*'The merchant robb'd of treasure 

Views tempests in despair ; 
But what's the loss of treasure 

To the losing of my dear ? 
Should ycu some coast be laid on 

Where g-olt* and diamonds grow. 
You'll find a richer maiden. 

But none that loves you so. 

" How can they say that Nature 

Has nothing made in vain ? 
Why then beneath the water 

Do hideous rocks remain ? 
No eyes those rocks discover. 

That lurk beneath the d<. ep. 
To wreck the wandering- lo\er. 

And leave the maid to weep.*' 

All melancholy lying" 

Thus wail'd she for her dear. 
Repaid each blast with sighing. 

Each billow with a tear ; 
When o'er the white waves stooping. 

His floating corpse she 'spied; 
Then like a lily drooping 

She bow'd her head and died. 

Gay. 



FASTORAL SONGS. 55 



All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd. 

The streamers waving* in the wind, 

When black-eyed Susan came on board, 

" O where shall I my true-love find ? 
Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true, 
If my sweet William sails among your crew? 

William, who high upon the yard 

Rock d by the billows to and fro. 

Soon as her well-known voice he heard. 

He sigh d, and cast his eyes below ; 
The cord glides swiftly through his glowing hands, 
And quick as lightning on the deck he stands. 

So the sweet lark high poised hi air 
Shuts close his pinions to his breast. 
If chance his mate's shrill CciU he hear. 
And drops at once into her nest : 
The noblest captain in the British fleet 
Might envy William's lips those kisses sweet 

" O Susan, Susah, lovely dear ! 

My vows shall ever true remain ; 

Let me kiss off that falling tear, 

We only part to meet again. 
Change as ye list, ye winds, my heart shall be 
The faithful compass that still points to thee. 



0»O BALLADS AND 

** Believe not what the landmen say, 

Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind ; 

They'll tell thee, sailors when away 

At every port a mistress find. 
Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so. 
For thou art present wheresoe'er I go. 

"Tf to far India's coast we sail. 

Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright, 

Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale. 

Thy skin is ivory so white ; 
Thus, every beauteous object that I view 
Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue. 

Tho* battle calls me from thy arms, 

Let not my pretty Susan mourn ; 

Tb'/ cannons roar, yet free from harms 

William shall to his dear return : 
Love turns aside the balls that round me fly. 
Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye." 

The boatswain gives the dreadful word. 
The sails their swelling bosoms spread; 
No longer must she stay on board. 
They kiss'd ; she sigh'd ; he kung his head : 

Her less'ning boat unwilling rows to land ; 

" Adieu !" she cries, and waved her lily hand. 

Gav 



PASTORAL SONGS. 57 



One morning' very early, one morning* in the spring, 
I heard a maid in Bedlam who mournfully did sing ; 
Her chains she rattled on her hands while sweetly thus 

sung she; 
" I love my love, because I know my love loves me. 

** O cruel were his parents who sent my love to sea ! 
And cruel cruel was the ship that bore my love from 

me ! 
Yet 1 love his parents since they're his, although 

they've ruin'd me ; 
And I love my love, because 1 know my love loves me. 

" O should it please the pitying powers to call me to 

the sky, 
I'd claim a guardian angel's charge around my love 

to fly ; 
To guard him from all dangers how happy should I be I 
For I love my love, because 1 know my love loves me- 

" I'll make a strawy garland, I'll make it wondrous 

fine. 
With roses, lilies, daisies, I'll mix the eglantine ; 
And I'll present it to my love when he returns from 

sea. 
For I love my love, because I know my love loves me* 

** Oh, if I were a little bird to build upon his breast. 
Or if I were a nightingale to sing my love to rest ! 

5* 



58 BALLADS AND 

To gaze upon his lovely eyes all my reward should be ; 
For I love my love, because 1 know my love loves me. 

*' Oh, if I were an eagle to soar into the sky ! 

I'd gaze around with piercing eyes where I my love 

might spy; 
But ah! unhappy maiden, that love you ne'er shall see: 
Yet I love my love, because 1 know my love loves me.*' 



It was a winter's evening, and fast came down the 

snow. 
And keenly o'er the w^ide heath the bitter blast did 

blow. 
When a damsel all forlorn, quite bewilder'd in hei- 

way, 
Press'd her baby to her bosom, and sadly thus did say: 

" Oh ! cruel was my father, that shut this door on me. 
And cruel was my mother, that such a sight did see, 
And cruel is the wintry wind that chills my heart with 

cold. 
But cruder than all, the lad that left my love for gold. 

*^ Hush, hush, my lovely baby, and warm thee in my 

breast : 
Ah, little thinks thy father how sadly we're distrest ! 
For cruel as he is, did he know but how we fare. 
He'd shield us in his arms from this bitter piercing 

air. 



PASTORAL SONGS. 59 

*' Cold, cold, my dearest jewel ! thy little life is gone • 
Oh ! let my tears revive thee, so warm that trickle 

down. 
My tears that gush so warm, oh ! they freeze before 

they fall : 
Ah wretched, wretched mother ! thou'rt now bereft 

of all!" 

Then down she sunk despairing upon the drifted snow, 
And wrung with killing anguish lamented loud her 

woe ; 
Shekiss'd her baby's pale lips, and laid it by her side. 
Then cast her eyes to heaven, then bow'd her head 

and died.^ 

J. A. 



Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, 
Thro' all the wide border his steed was the best ; 
And save his good broiid-sword he weapons had none, 
He rode all unarm'd and he rode all alone. 
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, 
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. 

He staid not for brake, and he stoop 'd not for stone. 
He swam the Eske river where ford there was none ; 

* The editor would not have ventured to insert a compo- 
sition of his own in a select collection, had it not already been 
received with marks of the public approbation. It is scarce!} 
necessary to point out an imitation of the preceding piece m 
its manner ; though not in its subject. 



60 BALLADS ANI> 

But, ere he alighted at Xetherby gate, 

The bride had consented, the gallant came late ; 

For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, 

Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. 

So boldly he enter'd the Xetherby hall, 

Among bridesmen and kinsmen, and brothers, and all ; 

Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, 

(For the poor craven bridegroom spoke never a word) 

*' O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war. 

Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochikvar ?** 

* I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied ; 
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide ; 
And now I am come, with this lost love of mine. 
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. 
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far 
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.** 

The bride kiss'd the goblet, the knight took it up. 
He quafPd off the wine, and he threw down the cup. 
She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh. 
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. 
He took her soft hand ere her mother could bar, — 
** Now tread we a measure!" said }oung Lochinvar. 

So stately his form, and so lovely her face. 
That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; 
While her mother did fret, and her father did fume. 
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and 
plume ; 






PASTORAL SONGS. 61 

And the bride-maidens vvhisper'd, " 'Twere better by 
far 

To have match'd our fair cousin with young* Loch in- 
var." 

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear. 
When they reach'd the hall door, and the charg-er 

stood near ; 
So lig'ht to the croup the fair lady he swung; 
So light to the saddle before her he spruiig ! 
** She is won ! we are g"one, over bank, busn, and scaur ; 
They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young- 

LOCHINVAR. 

! There was mounting 'mong* Graemes of the Netherby 

clan ; 
Porsters, Fen wicks and Musg'raves,they rode and tliey 

ran : 
I There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee, 
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. 
So daring in love and so dauntless in v/ar, 
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?'^ 

Walter Scott. 



* This excellent specimevi of the narrative ballad in its gay 
and sprightly form, is b}^ the writer, in ]jis line poem of 
*' M'^^rmion," represented as sung by the fascinating Lady 
Ford before the king of Scotland. 



62 BALLADS AND 



Despairing beside a clear stream, 

A shepherd forsaken was laid, 
And whilst a false nymph was his theme, 

A willow supported his head; 
The wind that blew over the plain 

To his sighs with a sigh did reply, 
And the brook in return to his pain 

Ran mournfully murmuring by. 

" Alas ! silly swain that I was !" 

Thus sadly complaining he cried ; 
'* When first 1 beheld that fair face, 

'Twere better by far I had died< 
She talk'd, and T bless'd the dear tongue. 

When she smiled 'twas a pleasure too great ; 
Ilisten'd, and cried, when she sung, 

"VV^as nightingale ever so sweet ? 



" How foolish was I to believe 

She would dote on so lowly a clown. 
Or that her fond heart would not grieve 

To forsake the fine folks of the town ! 
To think tl^at a beauty so gay, 

So kind and so constant would prove, 
To go clad like our maidens in gray. 

And live in a cottage on love ! 

" What tho' I have skill to complain, 
Tho' the Muses my temples have crown'd ? 



i 



PASTORAL SONGS, 63 

What tho', when they hear my soft strain. 

The. virgins sit weeping around ? 
Ab, Colin, thy hopes are in vain. 

Thy pipe and thy laurel resign. 
Thy fair one inclines to a swain 

Whose music is sweeter than thine. 

" And you, ray companions so dear. 

Who sorrow to see me betray'd. 
Whatever 1 suffer, forbear, 

Forbear to accuse the false maid : 
Tho' thro' the wide world we should range, 

'Tis in vain from our fortune to fly ; 
'Tw'as hers to be false, and to change, 

'Tis mine to be constant, and die. 

"If while my hard fate I sustain. 

In her breast any pity is found. 
Let her come with the nymphs of the plain. 

And see me laid low in the ground : 
The last humble boon that I crave 

Is to shade me with cypress and yew. 
And when she looks down on my grave 

Let her own that her shepherd was true- 

" Then to her new love let her go. 

And deck her in golden array. 
Be finest at every fine show. 

And frolic it all the long day : 
While Colin forgotten and gone, 

No more shall hv heard of or seen, 
Unless ^ hen beneath the pale moon 

His ghost shall glide over the green." Rowr. 



64 BALLADS AND 



As on a summer's day 

In the greenwood shade T lay, 

The maid that I lov'd, 

As her fancy mov'd, 
Came walking forth that way. 

And as she passed by, 

With a scornful glance of her eye, 
" What a shame," quoth she, 
*' For a swain must it be. 

Like a lazy loon for to lie ! 

" And dost thou nothing heed 
What Pan our god has decreed ; 

That a prize to-day 

Shall be given away 
To the sweetest shepherd's reed ? 

" There's not a single swain 
Of all this fruitful plain, 

But with hopes and fears 

Now busily prepares 
The bonny boon to gain. 

" Shall another maiden shine 
In brighter array than thine ? 
Up, up, dull swain. 
Tune thy pipe once again. 
And make the gariand mine." 



I 



PASTORAL SONGS. 65 

" Alas ! my love," I cried, 

** What avails this courtly pride ? 

Since thy dear desert 

Is written in my heart, 
What is all the world beside ? 

" To me thou art more gay 
In this homely russet gray. 

Than the nymphs of our green^ 

So trim and so sheen. 
Or the brightest queen of May. 

"What tho' my fortune frown. 
And deny thee a silken gown ; 

My own dear maid. 

Be content with this shade 
And a shepherd all thy own." 

RowE. 



To the brook and the willow that heard him complain, 

Ah willow ! willow^ ! 
Poor Colin went weeping, and told them his pain. 
" Sweet stream," he cried, " sadly Til teach thee to 

flow, 
And the waters shall rise to the brink with my woe. 
All restless and painful my Celia now lies. 
And counts the sad moments of time as it flies. 
To the nymph,my heart's love, ye soft slumbers,repair. 
Spread your downy wings o'er her, and make her your 

care ; 



I 



66 BALLADS AND 

Let me be left restless, mine eyes never close. 
So the sleep that I lose give my dear one repose. 
Sweet stream ! if you chance by her pillow to creep. 
Perhaps your soft murmurs may lull her to sleep. 
But if I am doom'd to be wretched indeed, 
Afidthe loss of my charmer the fates have decreed. 
If no more my sad heart by those eyes shall be cheer'd ' 
If the voice of my warbler no more shall be heard ; 
Believe me, thou fair-one, thou dear-one, believe. 
Few sighs to thy loss, and few tears will I give ; 
One fate to thy Colin and thee shall betide. 
And soon lay thy shepherd down by thy cold side. 
Then glide, gentle brook, and to lose thyself haste. 
Fade thou, too, my willow ; this verse is my last : 
Ah willow ! willow ! Ah willow ! willow !"* 

ROWE. 



Daphnis stood pensive in the shade, 
With arms across and head reclined ; 

Pale looks accused the cruel maid, 
And sighs relieved his love-sick mind : 

His tuneful pipe all broken lay, 

Looks, sighs, and actions seem'd to say, 
" Mv Chloe is unkind. 



"^ This piece, written by the antlior on the occasion of the 
illness of the lady he afterwards married, has all the pathetic 
of real feelinp;, thouf^h under the garb of pastoral fiction. 



PASTORAL SONGS. 67 

" Why ring" the woods with warbling" throats ? 

Ye larks, ye linnets, cease your strains ; 
I faintly hear, in your sweet notes. 

My Chloe's voice that wakes my pains : 
Yet why should you your song" forbear ? 
Your mates delight your song" to hear. 

But Chloe mine disdains." 

As thus he melancholy stood. 

Dejected as the lonely dove, 
Sweet sounds broke gently throug-h the wood. 

'*I feel the sound ; my heart-strings move : 
'Twas not the nightingale that sung" ; > 
No, 'tis my Chloe*s sweeter tong-ue. 

Hark, hark ! what says my love ?" 

*' How foolish is the nymph," she cries, 
" Who trifles with her lover's pain ! 

Nature still speaks in woman's eyes. 
Our artful lips were made to feigri. 

O Daphnis, Daph vis, 'twas my pride^ 

'Twas not my heart thy love denied ; 
Come back, dear youth, again. 

" As t'other day my hand he seized. 
My blood with thrilling- motion flew ; 

Sudden I put on looks displeased, 
And hasty from his hold withdrew. 

'Twas fear alone, thou simple swain, — 

Tlien hadst thou prest my hand again. 
My heart had yielded too. 



68 BALLADS ANJ) 

*' 'Tis true, thy tuneful reed T blamed, 
That s weird thy lip and rosy cheek : 

Think not thy skill in song" defamed, 
That lip should other pleasures seek : 

Much, much thy music I approve ; 

Yet break thy pipe, for more I love. 
Much more to hear thee speak. 

'' My heart forebodes that I'm betray'd ; 

Daphnis, I fear, is ever gone ; 
Last night with Delia's dog he play'd : 

Love by such trifles first comes on. 
Now, now, dear shepherd, come away. 
My tongue would now my heart obey. 

Ah Chloe, thou art won !" 

The youth stepp'd forth with hasty pace. 
And found where wishing Chloe lay ; 

Shame sudden lighten'd in her face. 
Confused, she knew not what to say. 

At last, in broken words she cried, 

^* To-morrow you in vain had tried. 
But I am lost to-day !" Gay. 



Alexis shunn'dhis fellow swains. 
Their rural sports and jocund strains ; 

Heaven shield us all from Cupid's bow! 
He lost his crook, he left his flocks. 
And wandering thro' the lonely rocks 
He nourish'd endless wo. 



PASTORAL SONGS. 69 

The nymphs and shepherds round him came, 
His grief some pity, others blame. 

The fatal cause all kindly seek ; 
He ming-led his concern with theirs. 
He gave them back their friendly tears. 
He sig-h'd, but could not speak. 

Glorinda came among the rest. 
And she too kind concern exprest, 

And ask'd the reason of his woe ; 
She ask'd, but with an air and mien 
That made it easily foreseen 

She fear'd too much to know. 

I'lie shepherd raised his mournful head, 
" And will you pardon me,'' he said, 
" While 1 the cruel truth reveal ? 
Which nothing" from my breast should tear, 
Which never should offend your ear, 
But that you bid me tell. 

" Tis thus I rove, 'tis thus complain, 
Since you appear'd upon the plain. 

You are the cause of all my care ; 
Your eyes ten thousand dangers dartj 
Ten thousand torments vex my heart, 
I love and I despair." 

"Too much, Alexis, have I heard, 
'Tis what I thought, 'tis what I ftiav'd, 
6* 



I 



rO BALLADS AND 

And yet I pardon you," she cried ; 
" Bat you shall promise ne'er again 
To breathe your vows, or speak your pain." 

He bow'd, obey'd, and died. Prior. 



The sun was sunk beneath the hill. 

The western clouds were lined with gold, 

Clear was the sky, the wind \vas still, 
The flocks were penn'd within the fold ; 

When in the silence of the grove 

Poor Damon thus despair'd of love. 

" Who seeks to pluck the fragrant rose 
From the hard rock or oozy beach. 

Who from each weed that barren grows 
Expects the grape or downy peach. 

With equal faith may hope to find 

The truth of love in womankind. 



*' No herds have I, no fleecy care, 

No fields that wave with golden grain. 

No pastures green, or gardens fair, 
A woman's venal heart to gain ; 

Then all in vain my sighs must prove. 

Whose whole estate, alas ! is love. 

** How wretched is the faithful youth ! 

Since women's hearts are bought and sold : 
They ask no vows of sacred truth. 

Whene'er they sigh, they sigh for gold. 



I 



PASTORAL SONGS. 7! 

ftold can the frowns of scorn remove : 
But I am scorn'd — who have but love. 

" To buy the gems of India's coast 
What wealth, what riches would suffice ? 

Yet India's shore should never boast 
The lustre of thy rival eyes ; 

For there the world too cheap must prove ; 

Can I then buy ? — who have but love. 

"Then, xMary, since nor gems nor ore 
Can with thy brighter self compare, 

Be just, as fair, and value more 
Than gems or ore a heart sincere : 

Let treasure meaner beauties move : 

Who pays thy worth must pay in love.'* 



What beauties does Flora disclose ! 

How sweet are her smiles upon Tweed! 
But Mary's, still sweeter than those. 

Both nature and fancy exceed. 
No daisy nor sweet blushing rose, 

Nor all the gay flowers of the field. 
Nor Tweed gliding gently thro* those. 

Such beauty and pleasure can yield. 

The warblers are heard in each grove, 
The linnet, the lark, and the thrush ; 

The blackbird and sweet cooing dove 
With music enchant every bush. 



72 BALLADS AND 

Come let us go forth to the mead. 
Let us see how the primroses spring ; 

We'll lodge in some village on Tweed, 
And love while the feather'd folks sing. 

How does my love pass the long day ? 

Does Mary not tend a few sheep ? 
Do they never carelessly stray. 

While happily she lies asleep ? 
Tweed's murmurs should lull her to rest. 

Kind nature indulging my bliss, 
To relieve the soft pains of my breast 

I'd steal an ambrosial kiss. 

'Tis she does the virgins excel. 

No beauty with her can compare. 
Love's graces all round her do dwell. 

She's fairest where thousands are fair. 
Say, charmer, where do th\r flocks stray ? 

Oh ! tell me at noon where they feed : 
Shall I seek them on sweet winding Tay, 

Or the pleasanter banks of the Tweed r 



A PASTORAL BALLAD IN FOUR PARTS, 

I. ABSENCE. 

Ye shepheMs so cheerful and gay. 
Whose flocks never carelessly roam, 

Should Cory don's happen to stray, 
Oh ! call the poor wanderers home. 



PASTORAL SONGS. 73 

Allow me to muse and to sii^h, 

Nor talk, of the chang-e that ye find ; 

None once was so watch fal as I : 

I have left my dear Phyllis behind. 

Now I know what it is to have strove 

With the tortUx'e of doubt and desire; 
What it is to admire, and to love, 

And to leave her we love and admire. 
Ah lead forth my flock in the morn, 

And the damps of each evening* repel ; 
Alas ! I am fuint and forlorn : 

I have bade my dear Phyllis farewell. 

Since Phyllis vouchsafed me a look, 

I never once dreamt of my vine ; 
May I lose both my pipe and my crook, 

If! knew of a kid that was mine ! 
I prized every hour that went by. 

Beyond all that had pleased me before ; 
But now they are past, and I sig-h ; 

And I grieve that I prized them no more. 

But why do t lang-uish in vain ? 

Why wander thus pensively here ? 
Oh ! why did I come from the plain, 

Where I fed on the smiles of my dear ? 
They tell me, my favourite maid, 

The pride of that valley, is flown ; 
Alas ! where with her I have stray'd, 

I could wander with pleasure, alone. 



74 BALLADS AND 

When forced the fair nymph to forgo, 

AVhat anguish I felt at my heart ! 
Yet I thought, but it might not be so, 

'Twas with pain that she saw me depart. 
She gazed, as I slowly withdrew" ; 

My path I could hardlv discern ; 
So sweetly she bade me adieu, 

I thought that she badejne return. 

The pilgrim that journeys all day 

To visit some far distant shrine, 
If he bear but a relic away. 

Is happy, nor heard to repine. 
Thus widely removed from the fair, 

Where my vows, my devotion, I owe. 
Soft Hope is the relic 1 bear, 

And my solace wherever I go. 

II. HOPE. 

My banks they are furnish'd with bees. 

Whose murmur invites one to sleep ; 
My grottos are shaded with trees. 

And my hills are white over with sheep. 
I seldom have met with a loss. 

Such health do my fountains bestow; 
My Ibuntains all borde'-'d with moss. 

Where the harebells and violets grow. 

Not a pine in my grove is there seen, 
But with tendrils of vvoodbme is bound : 



PASTORAL SONGS. rj 

Not a beech's more beautiful green, 
But a sweet-brier entwines it around. 

Not my fields, in the prime of the year. 
More charms than my cattle unfold : 

Not a brook that is limpid and clear. 
But it glitters with fishes of gold. 

One would think she might like to retire 

To the bower I have laboured to rear ; 
Not a shrub that I heard her admire. 

But I hasted and planted it there. 
Oh how sudden the jessamine strove 

With the lilac to render it gay ! 
Already it calls for my love, 

To prune the wild branches away. 

From the plains, from the woodlands and groves , 

What strains of wild melody flow ! 
How the nightingales warble their loves 

From thickets of roses that blow ! 
And when her bright form shall appear, 

Each bird shall harmoniously join 
In a concert so soft and so clear. 

As she may not be fond to resign. 

I have found out a gift for my fair ; 

I have found where the wood -pigeons breed • 
But let me that plunder forbear. 

She will say 'twas a barbarous deed: 
For he ne'er could be triie, she averr'd, 

Who could rob a poor bird of its young : 



76 BALLADS AND 

And T loved her the more when T heard 
Such tenderness fall from her tongue, 

I have heard her with sweetness unfold 

How that pity was due to a dove ; 
That it ever attended the boldj 

And she call'd it the sister of love. 
But her words such a pleasure convey. 

So much I her accents adore, 
Let her speak, and whatever she say, 

Methinks I should love her the more. 

Can a bosom so gentle remain 

Unmoved when her Cor yd on sighs I 
Will a nymph that is fond of the plain 

These plains and this valley despise • 
Dear regions of silence and shade ! 

Soft scenes of contentment and ease ! 
Where T could have pleasingly stray'd. 

If aught, in her absence, could please. 

But where does my Phyllida stray ? 

And where are her grots and her bowers ' 
Are the groves and the valleys as gay. 

And the sheplierdsas gentle, as ours ' 
The groves may perhaps be as fair. 

And the face of the valleys as fine ; 
The swains may in manners compare, 

But their love is not equal to mine. 



i 



PASTORAL SONGS. 17 



III. SOLICITUDE. 



r 



Why will you my passion reprove ? 

Why term it a folly to grieve ? 
Ere T show you the charms of my love. 

She is fairer than yow. can believe. 
With her mien she enamours the brave f 

With her wit she engag-es the free ; 
With her modesty pleases the grave ; 

She is every way pleasing* to me. 

you that have been of her train. 
Come and join in my amorous lays ; 

1 could lay down my life for the swain 

That will sing" but a song" in her praise. 
When he sings, may the nymphs of the town 

Come trooping", and listen the while ; 
Nay on him let not Phyllida frown; 

But I cannot allow her to smile. 

For when Paridel tries in the dance 

Any favour with Phyllis to find, 
O how, with one trivial glance, 

Might she ruin the peace of my mind ! 
In ringlets he dresses his hair. 

And his crook is be studded around ; 
And his pipe — oh my Phyllis beware 

Of a magic there is in the sound f 

'Tis his with mock passion to glow ; 
*Tis his in smooth tales to unfold, 



8 BALLADS AND 

How her face is as bright as the snow, 
And her bosom, be sure, is as cold : 

How the nightingales labour the strain. 
With the notes of his charmer to vie ; 

How they vary their accents in vain. 
Repine at her triumphs, and die. 

To the grove or the garden he strays. 

And pillages every sweet ; 
Then, suiting the wreath to his lays. 

He throws it at Phyllis's feet. 
"0 Phyllis," he whispers, "more fair. 

More sweet than the jessamine's flower! 
What are pinks, in a morn, to compare ? 

What is eglantine, after a shower ? 

" Then the lily no longer is white ; 

Thea the rose is deprived of its bloom ; 
Then the violets die with despite, 

And the woodbines give up their perfume." 
Thus glide the soft numbers along, 

And he fancies no shepherd his peer ; 
Yet I never should envy the song. 

Were not Phyllis to lend it an ear. 

Let his crook be with hyacinths bound. 
So Phyllis the trophy despise ; 

Let his forehead with laurels be crown'd. 
So they shine not in Phyllis's e3'es. 

The language that flows from the heart 
Is a stranger to Pa ridel's tongue : 



PASTORAL SONGS. 79 

Yet may she beware of his art ! 
Or sure I must envy the son^. 

IV. DISAPPOINTMENT. 

\ 

Ye shepherds, give ear to my lay. 

And take no more heed of my sheep : 
They have nothing* to do, but to stray ; 

I have nothing" to do, but to weep. 
Yet do not my folly reprove : 

She was fair, and my passion begun ; 
She smiled, and I could not but love : 

She is faithless, and I am undone. 

Perhaps T was void of all thought ; 

Perhaps it is plain to foresee 
That a nymph so complete would be sought 

By a swain more engaging than me. 
Ah ! love every hope can inspire ; 

It banishes wisdom the while ; 
And the lip of the nymph we admire 

Seems for ever adorned with a smile. 

She is faithless, and I am undone ; 

Ye that witness the woes 1 endure. 
Let reason instruct you to shun 

What it cannot instruct you to cure. 
Beware how you loiter in vain 

Amid nymphs of a higher degree : 
It is not for me to explain 

How fair and how fickle they be. 



BO BALLADS AND 

Alas ! from the day that we met, 

What hope of an end to my woes ? 
When I cannot endure to forget 

The glance that undid my repose. 
Yet time may diminish the pain : 

The flower, the shrub, and the tree, 
Which I rear*d for her pleasure in vain, 

In time may have comfort for me. 

The sweets of a dew-sprinkled rose, 

The sound of a murmuring stream. 
The peace which from solitude flows. 

Henceforth shall be Corydon's theme. 
High transports are shown to the sight. 

But we are not to find them our own ; 
Fate never bestow'd such delight 

As I with my Phyllis had known. 

ye woods, spread your branches apace ; 
To your deepest recesses I fly ; 

1 would hide with the beasts of the chase ; 

I would vanish from every eye. 
Yet my reed shall resound through the grove 

With the same sad complaint it begun ; 
How she smiled, and I could not but love ; 

Was faithless, and I am undone ! 

Shenstone. 



d 



PASTORAL SONGS. 8.1 



To THE Memory of William She nstone, Esq.. 

Come, shepherds, we'll follow the hearse. 

And see our loved Corydon laid : 
Though sorrow may blemish the verse. 

Yet let the sad tribute be paid. 
They call'd him the pride of the plain : 

In sooth, he was gentle and kind ; 
He mark'd in his elegant strain 

The graces that glow'd in his mind. 

On purpose he planted yon trees. 

That birds in the covert might dwell : 
He cultured the thyme for the bees. 

But never would rifle their cell. 
Ye lambkins than play'd at his feet. 

Go bleat, and your master bemoan : 
His music was artless and sweet. 

His manners as mild as your own. 

No verdure shall cover the vale, 

No bloom on the blossoms appear ; 
The sweets of the forest shall fail, 

And winter discolour the year. 
No birds in our hedges shall sing, 

(Our hedges so vocal before) 
Since he that should welcome the spring 

Can greet the gay season no more. 
7* 



82 BALLADS AN© 

His Phyllis was foQd of his praise. 

And poets came round in a throng ; 
They listened, and envied his lays, 

But which of them equalled his song^ 
Ye shepherds, henceforward be mute. 

For lost is the pastoral strain ; 
So give me myCoRVDON's flute. 

And thus—let me break it in twain. 

Cunningham. 



O'eh moorlands and mountains, rude, barren and bare, 

As wilder'd and wearied I roam, 
A gentle young shepherdess sees my despair, 

x\nd leads me o'er lawns to her home : 
Yellow sheaves from rich Ceres her cottage had 
crown'd. 

Green rushes were strew'd on the floor j 
Her casement sweet woodbines crept wantonly round, 

And deck'd the sod seats at her door. 

We sat ourselves down to a cooling repast, 

Fresh fruits, and she cull'd me the best. 
While thrown off my guard by some glances she cast, 

Love slily stole into my breast. 
1 told my soft' wishes : she sweetly replied, 

(Ye virgins, her voice was divine,) 
"I've rich ones rejected, and great ones denied. 

Yet take me, fond shepherd, I'm thine." 



PASTORAL SONGS. So 

fler air was so modest, her aspect so meek. 

So simple, yet sweet were her charms, 
I kiss'd the ripe roses that g-low'd on her cheek, 

And lock'd the loved maid in my arms. 
Now jocund tog-ether we tend a few sheep ; 

And if on the banks, by the stream, 
Reclined on her bosom I sink into sleep. 

Her image still softens my dream. 

Together we range o'er the slow-rising hills^ 

Delighted with pastoral views. 
Or rest on the rock whence the streamlet distills. 

And mark out new themes for my Muse. 
To pomp or proud titles she ne'er did aspire, 

The damsel's of humble descent; 
The cottager Peace is well known for her sire. 

And shepherds have named her Content. 

Cunningham. 



MORAL 



AND 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 



iM O glory I covet, no riches I want. 

Ambition is nothing to me ; 
The one thing 1 beg of kind Heaven to grant 

Is a mind independent and free. 

With passions unruffled, untainted with pride. 

By reason my life let me square ; 
The wants of my nature are cheaply supplied. 

And the rest is but folly and care. 

The blessings which Providence freely has lent 

I'll justly and gratefully prize ; 
Whilst sweet meditation and cheerful content 

Shall make me both healthful and wise. 

in the pleasures the great man's possessions display 

Unenvied I'll challenge my part ! 
For every fair object my eyes can survey 

Contributes to gladden my heart. 



MORAL AND MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 85 

How vainly, through infinite trouble and strife, 

The many their labours employ ! 
Since all that is truly delightful in life, 

Ts what all, if they will, may enjoy. 



Through groves sequester'd, dark and still, 
Low vales and mossy ceils among, 

In silent paths, the nameless rill 
With liquid murmurs steals along : 

Awhile it plays with circling sweep. 
And lingering winds its native plain'; 

Then pours impetuous down the steep. 
And mingles with the boundless main. 

O let my years thus devious glide 

Through silent scenes obscurely calm ; 

Nor wealth nor strife pollute the tide. 
Nor honour's sanguinary palm. 

When labour tires, and pleasure palls. 
Still let the stream untroubled lie. 

As down the steep of age it falls, 
And mingle with eternity. 

Hawkesworth. 



86 MORAL AND 



What man in his wits had not rather be poor. 

Than for lucre his freedom to g-ive ; 
Ever busy the means of his life to secure. 

And so ever neglecting to live ! 

Environed from morning to night in a crowd, 

Not a moment unbent, or alone ; 
Constrained to be abject, though never so proud. 

And at every one's call but his own ! 

Still repining and longing for quiet each hour. 

Yet studiously flying it still ; 
With the means of enjoying his wish in his power. 

But accurst with his wanting the will ! 

For a year must be past, or a day must be come, 

Before he has leisure to rest : 
He must add to his store this or that pretty sum. 

And then will have time to be blest. 

But his gains, more bewitching the more they in- 
crease, 

Only swell the desire of his eye : 
Such a wretch let mine enemy live, if he please. 

But not even mv enemv die. 



I 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 87 



Oh ! what is the g-ain of restless care. 

And what is ambition's treasure, 
And what are the joys that the modish share 

In their haunts of sickly pleasure ? 

The shade with its silence, — oh ! is it not sweet. 
And to lie in the sun by the fountain, 

And the wild-flower's scent at the eve to meet. 
And to rove e'er the heath and the mountain ? 

Oh ! where is the morning" seen to rise. 

The violet mark'd as 'tis springing". 
The zephyr heard as at eve it sig-hs, 

The blackbird loved for its singing ! 
Oh ! there alone can the heart be gay. 

The thought be free from sorrow. 
And soft the nig-ht, and short the day, 

And welcome again the morrow.* 

W. Smyth. 



(Jo ME, dear Amanda ! quit the town. 

And to the rural hamlets fly ; 
Behold, the wintry storms are gone, 

A gentle radiance glads the sky : 

* From a very elegant volimie of Poems entitled "English 
Lvric5," 



38 MORAL AND 

The birds awake, the flowers appear, 
Earth spreads a verdant couch for thee ^ 

'Tis joy and music all we hear ; 
'Tis love and beauty all we see. 

Come ! let us mark the g-radual spring. 

How peep the buds, the blossom blows. 
Till Philomel begins to sing, 

And perfect May to spread the rose. 
Let us secure the short delight, 

And wisely crop the blooming day ; 
For soon, too soon, it will be night : 

Arise, my love ! and come away. 



Waft me, some soft and cooling breeze. 
To Windsor's shady kind retreat. 

Where sylvan scenes, wide-spreading trees. 
Repel the raging dog-star*s heat : 

Where tufted grass and mossy beds 

Afford a rural calm repose ; 
Where woodbines hang their dewy heads. 

And fragrant sweets around disclose. 

Old oozy Thames, that flows fast by. 
Along the smiling valley plays ; 

His glassy surfuce cheers the eye. 

And tlirough the flowery meadows strays 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 89 

His fertile banks with herbage green. 
His vales with smiling* plenty swell ; 

Where'er his purer stream is seen 

The gods of health and pleasure dwell. 

Let me thy clear, thy yielding wave 
With naked arm once more divide ; 

In thee my glowing bosom lave, 
And stem tlfy gently rolling tide. 

Lay me with damask roses crown'd 
Beneath some ozier*s dusky shade, 

Where water lilies paint the ground. 
And bubbling springs refresh the glade. 

Let chaste Clarinda too be there 
With azure mantle lightly drest ; 

Ye nymphs, bind up her silken hair ; 
Ye Zephyrs, fan her panting breast. 

O haste away, fair maid ! and bring 
The Muse, the kindly frit-nd to love ; 

To thee alone the muse shall sing 
And warble thro' the vocal groves. 

Lansdownb. 



90 MORAL AND 



Dear is my little native vale, 

The ring'-dove builds and warbles there ; 

Close by my cot she tells her tale 

To every passing villager. 

The squirrel leaps from tree to tree. 

And shells his nuts at liberty. 

In orange-groves and myrtle bowers 
That breathe a gale of fragrance round, 
I charm the fairy-footed liours 
With my loved lute's romantic sound. 
Or crowns of living laurel weave 
For those that win the race at eve. 

The shepherd's horn at break of day. 
The ballet danced in twilight glade. 
The canzonet and roundelay 
Sung in the silent green-wood shade ; 
These simple joys, that never fail. 
Shall bind me to my native vale.* 

Rogers. 



Not on beds'of fading flowers 
Shedding soon their gaudy pride, 

Nor with swains in Syren bowers 
Will true pleasure long reside. 

* The supposed scene of this elegant piece is in Italy, 



MISeELLA'NEOUS SONGS. 91 

Dn awful Virtue's hill sublime 

Enthroned sits th' immortal fair ; 
Who wins her height must patient climt) ; 

The steps are peril, toil, and care : 
So from the first did Jove ordain 

Eternal bliss for transient pain.* 

Dalton. 



JUNO'S SONG 

IN THE JUDGEMENT OF PARIS. 

Let ambition fire thy mind, 
Thou wert born o'er men to reign ; 

I^Tot to follow flocks design 'd ; 

Scorn thy crook and leave the plain. 

Crowns I'll throw beneath thy feet ; 

Thou on necks of kings shall tread > 
Joys in circles joys shall meet 

Which way e'er thy fancy's led. 

Let not toils of empire fright, 

Toils of empire pleasures are ; 
Thou shalt only know delight. 

All the joy, but not the care. 

-* The sentiment in this song, which is introduced in the 
iilteration of Comus for the stage, is bon-owcd tVom a noted 
wassage in Hesiod. 



92 MORAL AND 

Shepherd, if thou'lt yield the prize. 

For the blessings I bestow. 
Joyful I'll ascend the skies, 

H4ppy thou shall reign below. 

CONGREVE. 



The wretch condemned with life to part 

Still, still on hope relies ; 
And every pang that rends the heart 

Bids expectation rise. 

Hope, like the glimmering taper's light. 

Illumes and cheer's the way. 
And still as darker grows the night 

Emits a brighter ray. 

Goldsmith. 



O MEMORY ! thou fond deceiver, 

Still importunate and vain. 
To former jovs recurring ever. 

And turning all the past to pain : 

Thou, like the world, th' opprest oppressing. 
Thy smiles increase the wretch's woe j 

And he who wants eacli other blessing 
In thee must ever find a foe. 

Goldsmith. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 93 



When lovely woman stoops to folly. 
And finds too late that men betray. 

What charm can sooth her melancholy ? 
What art can wash her guilt away ! 

The only art her g-uilt to cover. 

To hide her shame from every eye, 

To give Repentance to her lover. 
And wring his bosom, is — to die * 

Goldsmith. 



Lucy, I think not of thy beauty ; 

I praise not each peculiar grace : 
To see thee in the path of duty. 

And with that happy smiling face. 
Conveys more pleasure to thy friend 
Than any outward charm can lend. 

I see thy grateful babes caress thee ; 

I mark thy wise maternal care ; 
And sadly do the words impress me. 

The heartless words, that thou art fair : 

* For elegant simplicity of language, harmony of verslli 
cation, and pointed neatness of composition, tliere «re not, 
perhaps, to be found in the hmguftge two more finished stan- 
zas than these, Avhich are introduced in " The Yicau 'of 
Wakefield." 

8* 



94 MORAL AND 

I wonder that a tong-iie is found 
To utter ihe unfeeling* sound. 

For art not thou above such praises ? 

And is this all that they can see ? 
Poor is the joy such flattery raises. 

And oh ! how much unworthy thee ! 
Unworthy one whose heart can feel 
The voice of truth, the warmth of zeaL 

O Lucy ! thou art snatch 'd from folly. 

Become too tender to be vain : 
The world — it makes me melancholy — 

The world would lure thee back again ; 
And it would cost me many sighs 
To see it win so bright a prize. 

Tho' passing apprehensions move me, 

I know thou hast a noble heart ; 
But, Lucy, I so truly love thee. 

So much admire thee as thou art. 
That but the shadow of a fear 
Wakes in my breast a pang sincere. 

Matilda Betham. 



The Rose had been wash'd, just w^ash'd in a shower, 

Which Mary to Anna convey'd ; 
The plentiful moisture incumbered the flower, 

And weigh'd down its beautiful head. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 95 

The cup was all fill'd, and the leaves were all wet. 

And it seem'd, to a fanciful view, 
To weep for the buds it had left with regret 

On the flourishing" bush where it grew. 

I hastily seized it, unfit as it was 
For a nosegay, so dripping and drown'd, 

And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas ! 
I snapped it — it fell to the ground. 

" And such," T exclaim'd, " is the pitiless part 

Some act by the delicate mind ; 
Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart 

Already to sorrow resign*d, 

** This elegant Rose, had I shaken it less, 
Might have bloom'd with its owner awliile ; 

And the tear that is wiped with a little address 
May be follow'd, perhaps, by a smile." 

COWPER. 



THE MANSION OF REST. 

I talk'd to my fluttering heart. 

And chided its wandering ways ; 
I told it from folly to part. 

And husband the best of its days : 
I bade ii no more to admire 

The meteors that fancy had drest, 
I wliisper'd, 'twas time to retire. 

And seek for a Mansion of Rest. 



96 MORAL ANP 

A charmer was list'ning' the while. 

Who caught up the tone of my lay ; 
*^0h! come then," she cried with a smile, 

'^ And Friendship shall point out your way," 
1 followed the witch to her home, 

And vow'd to be always her guest ; 
'^ Never more," I exclaim'd, " will I roam 

In quest of a Mansion of Rest." 

But the sweetest of moments will fly, 

Not long was my fancy beguiled; 
And shortly I own'd, with a sigh. 

That Friendship could stab while she smiled: 
Yes — coldly could stab the repose 

Of the trusting and innocent breast. 
And every fair avenue close 

That led to a Mansion of Rest. 

Love next urged my footsteps to stray 

Thro' the wildering paths of Romance ; 
But I started and turn'd me away 

From his bright and enamouring glance ; 
For reflection had taught me to know. 

That the soul by his sorc'ry possest 
Might toss on the billows of woe. 

But ne'er find a Mansion of Rest. 

Still in search of the phantom call'd Joy, 

Stern Reason I met on my way^ 
I shrank from the beam of her eye. 

Yet its lustre illumined mv dav ; 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 97 

" Behold,*' she exclaim'd, "yonder grave 
With the flowers of the woodland bedrest. 

Where darkly the cypresses wave : 
Lo ! that is the Mansion of Rest." 

Laura Sophia Temple. 



The gloomy night is gathering fast. 
Loud roars the wild inconstant blast. 
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain, 
I see it driving o'er the plain : 
The hunter now has left the moor, 
The scatter'd coveys meet secure ; 
While here I wander, prest with care. 
Along the lonely banks of Ayr. 

The autumn mourns her ripening corn 
By early winter's ravage torn ; 
Across her placid azure sky 
She sees the scowling tempest fly : 
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave; 
I think upon the stormy wave 
Where many a danger I must dare, 
JFar from the^bonnie banks of Ayr. 

'Tis not the surging billows roar, 
'Tis not the fatal deadly shore ; 
Tho' death in ever\ shape appear, 
The wretched have no more to fear : 



i?8 MORAL ANB 

Bat round my heart the ties are bound, 
That heart transpierc'd with many a wound ; 
Those bleed afresh, those ties I tear. 
To leave the bonnie banks of Ayr. 

Farewell, old Coila's hills and dales, 
Her heathy moors and winding* vales. 
The scenes where wretched fanc}' roves^ 
Pursuing" past unhappy loves ! 
Farewell, my friends ! farewell, my foes ! 
My peace with these, my love with those ! 
The bursting tears my heart declare ; 
Farewell, the bonnie banks of Ayr !* 

Burns. 



To fair Fidele's grassy tomb 

Soft maids and village hinds shall brings 
Bach opening sweet of earliest bloom. 

And rifle all the breathing spring. 

No wailing ghost shall dare appear 
To vex with shrieks this quiet grove, 

But shepherd lads assemble here. 
And melting virgins own their love. 



^ This pathetic piece, the genuine expression of tht 
writer's own feelings, was written when he had taken a res- 
olution to quit his native country for the West Indies, in 
consequence of the difficulties in which he was involved. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 9.^ 

Ho wither'd witch shall here be seen. 
No g-obUns lead their nig-htly crew ; 

But female fays shall haunt the g-reen, 
And dress thy grave with pearly dew. 

The redbreast oft at evening" hours 

Shall kindly lend his little aid. 
With hoary moss and gather'd flowers 

To deck the ground where thou art laid. 

When howling winds and beating rain 
In tempests shake the sylvan cell. 

Or 'midst the chase upon the plain. 

The tender thought on thee shall dwell. , 

Each lonely scene shall thee restore, 

For thee the tear be duly shed ; 
Beloved, till life can charm no more. 

And mourn'd, till pity's self be dead.* 

Collins, 



MORNING AND EVENING. 

Say, sweet carol ! who are they 
Who cheerly greet the rising day ? 
Little birds in leafy bower ; 
Swallows twitt'ring on the tower; 

* Written as a Dierge on the supposed death of Imogen, 
ill Shakespear's " Cymbeline." 



100 MORAL AND 

Larks upon the light air borne ; 

Hunters roused with shrilly horn ; 

The woodman whistling- on his way ; 

The new-waked child at early play, 

Who barefoot prints the dewy green, 

Winking" to the sunny sheen ; 
And the meek maid who binds her yellow hair, 
And blithely doth her daily task prepare. 

Say, sweet carol ! who are they 

Who welcome in the evening gray ? 

The housewife trim, and merry lout, 

Who sit the blazing fire about ; 

The sage a^conning o'er his book ; 

The tired wight in rushy nook. 

Who, half asleep, but faintly hears 

The gossip's tale hum in his ears; 

The loosen'd steed in grassy stall ; 

The Thanies feasting in the hall ; 
But moat of all the maid of cheerful soul. 
Who fills her peaceful warrior's flowing bowl.* 
Joanna Baillie. 



* Introduced in the tragedy of " Ethwald," act ii. The 
beaudfal imagery in this song is accommodated to the time 
®f the Saxon Heptai'chy, 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 101 



TO MAY. 

Born in yon blaze of orient sky. 

Sweet May ! thy radiant form unfold ; 

Unclose thy blue voluptuous eye, 
And wave thy shadowy locks of gold. 

For Thee the fragrant zephyrs blow. 
For Thee descends the sunny shower. 

The rills in softer murmurs flow. 
And brighter blossoms gem the bower. 

Light Graces, drest in flowery wreaths. 
And tiptoe Joys their hands combine; 

And Love his sweet contagion breathes. 
And, laughing, dances round thy shrine. 

Warm with new life the glittering throngs. 
On quivering fin and rustling wing. 

Delighted join their votive songs, 

And hail thee. Goddess of the Spring.* 

Darwin. 



* This piece, which possesses all the brilliancy and high 
finish characteristic ot the author's poetry, is inserted in 
"The Botanic Garden," part ii. 



102 MORAL AND 



THE SOLDIER. 

What dreaming drone was ever blest 

By thinking of the morrow ? 
To day be mine — I leave the rest 

To all the fools of sorrow : 
Give me the mind that mocks at care. 

The heart, its own defender ; 
The spirits that are light as air. 

And never beat surrender. 

On comes the foe — to arms — to arms — 

We meet — 'tis death or glory : 
'Tis victory in all her charms. 

Or fame in Britain's story : 
Dear native land ! thy fortunes frown, 

And ruffians would enslave thee : 
Thou land of honour and renown. 

Who would not die to save thee ? 

'Tis you, 'tis I, that meets the ball ; 

And me it better pleases 
In battle with the brave to fall, 

Than die of cold diseases ; 
Than drivel on in elbow chair. 

With saws and tales unheeded, 
A tottering thing of aches and care. 

Nor longer loved nor needed. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. lOS 

/ 

But thou — dark is thy flowing* hair, 

Tliine eye is with fire streaming ; 
And o'er thy cheek, thy looks, thine air. 

Health sits in triumph beaming" : 
Thou, brother soldier, fill the wine. 

Fill high the wine to beauty ; 
Love, friendship, honour, all are thine. 

Thy country and tliy duty. 

W. Smyth. 



WAR SONG. 

I mark'd his madly-rolling eye, 
I caught its furious blood-red flame, 

I saw their panic sq«iadrons fly 
Where'er th' impetuous warrior came. 

With gleaming sword and waving plume. 

Like some wild meteor of the gloom. 

Fiercer and fiercer wax'd the fight. 
And ruddier grew the field of gore ; 

In vain I strain'd my aching sight, 
I mark'd his waving plume no more : 

In long unequal fight he bled, 

And mingled with the hostile dead. 

And shall he thus unhonour'd lie. 
Nor know a grateful monarch's care ? 

No — raise the mausoleum high, 
Place his sad sacred relics there. 

And, on recording marble, tell 

How my brave warrior fought and fell. W. 



104 MORAL AND 



Ye mariners of England, 

That guard our native seas. 
Whose flag" has braved a thousand years,. 

The battle and the breeze. 
Your glorious standard raise again 

To match another foe. 
And sweep thro* the deep, 

While the stormy tempests blow ; — 
While the battle rages loud and long. 

And the stormy tempests blow ! 

The spirits of your fathers 

Shall start from every wave ; 
For the deck it was the field of fame. 

And ocean was their grave ! 
Where Blake (the boast of freedom) fell 

Your manly hearts shall glow. 
As ye sweep thro' the deep 

When the stormy tempests blow ; — 
While the battle rages loud and long, 

And the stormy tempests blow ! 

Britannia needs no bulwark. 

No towers along the steep ; 
Her march is o'er the mountain-waves, 

Her home is on the deep : 
Witn thunders from her native oak 

She quells the floods below. 



MISCELLANEOUS SONGS. 105 

As they roar on the shore. 

When the storray tempests blow ; — 

When the battle rages loud and long^ 
And the stormy tempests blow ! 

The meteor flag of England 

Must yet terrific burn, 
Till Danger's troubled night depart. 

And the star of Peace return ! 
Then, then, ye ocean-warriors ! 

Our song and feast shall flow 
To the fame ef your name 

When the tempests cease to blow ;— 
When the fiery fight is heard no more, 

And the tempests cease to blow !* 

Campbell, 

i ' . 

* This fine alteration of a popular ballad may be pointed 
out as the most poetical specimen of a naval song that our 
lanffuaare affords. 



9* 



CONVIVIAL SONGS. 



Mortals, learn your lives to measure 
Not by leng-th of time, but pleasure ; 
Now the hours invite, comply ; 
While you idly pause, they fly : 
Blest, a nimble pace they keep. 
But in torment, then they creep. 

Mortals, learn your lives to measure 
Not by length of time, but pleasure ; 
Soon your spring must have a fall; 
Losing" youth, is losing all : 
Then you'll ask, but none will give. 
And may linger, but not live. 



Preach not me your musty rules. 
Ye drones that mould in idle cell i 

The heart is wiser than the schools. 
The senses alwavs reason well. 



CONVIVIAL SONGS. 107 

If short my span, I less can spare 

To pass a single pleasure by ; 
An hour is long if lost in care ; 

They only live who life enjoy.* 

Dalton. 



By the gaily-circling" glass 
We can see how minutes pass ; 
By the hollow cask we're told 
How the waning night grows old. 

Soon, too soon, the busy day 
Drives us from our sport and play. 
What have we with day to do ? 
Sons of care ! 'twas made for you. 

Dalton 



Busy, curious, thirsty Fly! 
Drink with me, and drink as I ; 
Freely welcome to my cup, 
Couldst thou sip and sip it up. 
Make the most of life you may. 
Life is short, and wears away. 



' This and the following short piece are taken from the 
writer's alteration of Conius, by which he has certainly 
given more force to the voluptuous doctrine than Milton 
would have approved, yet has displayed a fine taste and un- 
common talents for compositions of this kind. 



108 CONVIVIAL SONGS. 

Both alike are mine and thine 
Hastening quick to their decline : 
Thine's a summer — mine no more, 
Though repeated to threescore ; 
Threescore summers, when they're gone. 
Will appear as short as one.* 



When I drain the rosy bowl 
Joy exhilarates my soul ; 
To the Nine I raise my song, 
Ever fair and ever young. 
When full cups my cares expel, 
Sober counsels, then farewell; 
Let the winds that murmur sweep 
All my sorrows to the deep. 

When I drink dull time away. 
Jolly Bacchus, ever gay. 
Leads me to delightful bowers. 
Full of fragrance, full of flowers. 
When I quaff the sparkling wine. 
And my locks with roses twine. 
Then I praise life's rural scene. 
Sweet, sequester'd, and serene. 



* Of the pieces termed Anacreontic, this is one of the 
most pleasing, on account of the ease and good-humoured 
familiarity of the diction, and the happy turn of the sen- 
timent. 



CONVIVIAL SONGS. 109 

When I sink the bowl profound, 
Richest fragrance flowing round. 
And some lovely nymph detain, 
Venus then inspires the strain. 
When from goblets deep and wide 
I exhaust the generous tide. 
All my soul unbends : I play. 
Gamesome with the young and gay.* 

Fawkes. 



The thirsty earth drinks up the rain. 
And thirsts, and gapes for drink again ; 
The plants suck in the earth and are 
With constant drinking fresh and fair. 

The sea itself (which one would think 
Should have but little need of drink) 
Drinks twice ten thousand rivers up. 
So fiU'd that they o'erflow the cup. 

The busy sun (and one would guess 
By's drunken fiery face no less) 
Drinks up the sea, and when he's done, 
The moon and stars drink up the sun. 



* This song is written in the personof A.nacreon, theroriu 
of one of whose odes it copies, and whose general strain ol" 
seuitment it imitates. 



110 CONVIVIAL SONGS. 

They drink and dance by their own lightj 
The\ drink and revel all the night : 
Nothing- in nature 's sober found, 
But an eternal health goes round. 

Fill up the bowl then, fill it high. 
Fill all the glasses here ; for why 
Should every creature drink but I ? 
Why, man of morals, tell me why !* 



Cowley. 



Wine, wine in the morning 
Makes us frolic and gay, 

That like eagles we soar 
In the pride of the day ; 

Gouty sots of the night 
Only find a decay. 

'Tis the sun ripes the grape. 
And to drinking gives light ; 

We imitate him 

When by noon we're at height ; 

They steal wine who take it 
When he's out of sight. 

Boy, fill all the glasses. 

Fill them up now he shines ; 

* Freely translated from Anacreon. 



CONVIVIAL SONGS. Ill 

The higher he rises 

The more he refines. 
For wine and wit fall 

As their maker declines. 



A GLEE 

ON A GOLD CUP WITH EMBOSSED FIGURES. 

Mirth ! be thy mingled pleasures mine, 
The joys of Music, Love, and Wine, 
While high the votive cup I hold. 
And trace the forms that breathe in gold. 

Beneath this vine, lo ! Bacchus laid, 
Round Venus twines the ivy braid ; 
While each light Grace, with zone unbound, 
Weaves the dance their bower around. 

Here, with gay song and sportive lyre, 
Wing'd Cupid leads th' Idalian choir. 
Where the crush'd grape, from every vein, 
Dyes their foot with purple stain. 

Chorus. 
I heard the God's ecstatic notes, 
Each sense in sweet delirium floats ; 
Pledge the cup, the chorus join, 
And echo Music, Love, and Wine. 

S O T u r, B Y. 



AMATORY SONGS. 



Blest as th' immortal Gods is he. 
The youth that fondly sits by thee ; 
And sees, and hears thee, all the while, 
Softly speak, and sweetly smile. 

'Twas this deprived my soul of rest. 
And raised such tumults in my breast ; 
For while I gazed, in transport tost. 
My breath was gone, my voice was lost. 

My bosom glow'd, a subtile flame 
Ran quick through all my vital frame : 
O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung. 
My ears with hollow murmurs rung. 

In dewy damps my limbs were chill'd. 
My blood with gentle horrors thrill'd : 
My feeble pulse forgot to play, 
I fainted, sunk, and died away.* 

A. Phillips. 



An elegant translation of the celebrated ode of Sapphe. 



AMATORY S0X6S. U' 



T«Y fatal shafts unerring move, 

I bow before thine altar. Love ; 

I feel the soft resistless flame 

Glide swift through all my vital frame. 

For while I gaze, my bosom glows. 
My blood in tides impetuous flows ; 
Hope, fear, and joy alternate roll. 
And floods of transport whelm my soul. 

My faltering tongue attempts in vain 
In soothing numbers to complain ; 
My tongue some secret magic ties. 
My murmurs sink in broken sighs. 

Condemn'd to nurse eternal care. 
And ever drop the silent tear. 
Unheard I mourn, unknown I sigh. 
Unfriended live, unpitied die. 

Smollett. 



Ah ! the shepherd's mournful fate! 

When doom'd to love, and doom'd to languish, 
To bear the scornful fair-one's hate. 

Nor dare disclose his anguish. 
Yet eager looks, and dying sighs, 

My secret soul discover, 
10 . 



114 AMATORY SONGS. 

Wliile rapture trembling thro' my eyes 
Reveals how much I love her. 

The tender glance, the reddening cheek, 
O'erspread with rising blushes, 

A thousand various ways they speak 
A thousand various wishes. 

For oh ! that form so heavenly fair, 

Tliose languid eyes so sweetly smiling. 
That artless blush and modest air. 

So artfully beguiling ! 
Thy every look, and every grace. 

So charm whene'er I view thee. 
Till death o'ertake me in the chase. 

Still will my hopes pursue thee : 
Then when my tedious hours are past 

Be this last blessing given, 
Low at thy feet to breathe my last, 

And die in sight of heaven. 



Hamilton. 



From her, alas ! whose smile was love 
I wander to some lonely cell : 

My sighs too weak the maid to move, 
I bid the flatterer Hope farewell. 

Be all her syren arts forgot 

That fill'dmy bosom with alarms : 

Ah ! let her crime — a little spot — 
Be lost amidst her blaze of charms. 



AMATORY SONGS. 115 

xis on I wander slow, my sig-hs 
At every step for Cynthia mourn : 

My anxious heart within me dies, 

And sinking", whispers, " Oh, return !" 

Deluded heart ! thy folly know. 

Nor fondly nurse the fatal flame : 
By absence thou shalt lose thy woe, 

And only flutter at her name. 

WolCOTT. 



Go, tell Amynta, gentle swain, 
I would not die, nor dare complain ; 
Thy tuneful voice with numbers join, 
Thy voice will more prevail than mine : 
For souls opprest, and dumb with grief, 
The gods ordain'd this kind relief, 
That music should in sounds convey 
What dying lovers dare not say. 

A sigh, or tear, perhaps she'll give. 
But love on pity cannot live, 
Tell her, that hearts for hearts were made. 
And love with love is only paid. 
Tell her, my pains so fast increase. 
That soon they will be past redress ; 
For, ah ! the w retch that speechless lies 
Attends but death to close his eyes. 

Dryden, 



116 AMATORY SONGS. 



Yes, fairest proof of beauty's power. 

Dear idol of my panting heart ; 
Kature points this my fatal hour ; 

And I have lived ; and we must part. 

While now I take my last adieu, 

Heave thou no sigh, nor shed a tear, 

Lest yet my half-closed eye may view- 
On earth an object worth its care. 

Prom jealousy's tormenting strife 

For ever be thy bosom freed ; 
That nothing may disrurb thy life, 

Gontent 1 hasten to the dead. 

Yet when some better fated youth 

Shall with his amorous parley move thee. 

Reflect one moment on his truth 

Who dying thus persists to love thee. 

Prior. 



On every hill, in every grove. 

Along the margin of each stream, 

Dear conscious scenes of former love, 
I mourn, and Damon is my theme. 

The hills, the groves, the streams remain. 

But Damon there I seek in vain. 



AMATORY SONGS. 1 IT 

Now to the mossy cave I fly. 

Where to my swain I oft have sung". 

Well pleased the browsing- g-oats to spy, 
As o'er the airy steep they hung. 

The mossy cave, the goats remain, 

But Damon there I seek in vain. 

Now through the winding vale J pass, 
And sigh to see the well-known shade ; 

I weep, and kiss the bended grass 
Where love and Damon fondly play'd. 

The vale, the shade, the grass, remain, 

But Damon there I seek in vain. 

From hill, from dale, each charm is fled. 
Groves, flocks, and fountains please no more. 

Each flower in pity droops its head. 
All nature does my loss deplore. 

All, all reproach the faithless swain. 

Yet Damon still I seek in vain. 

Dalton. 



In vain you tell your parting lover 
You wish fair winds may waft him over : 
Alas ! what winds can happy prove 
That bear me far from what I love ? 
Alas ! what dangers on the main 
Can equal those which I sustain 
From slighted vows and cold, disdain ? 

10* 



118 AMATORY SONGS. 

Be gentle and in pity choose 

To wish the wildest tempests loose ; 

That, thrown again upon the coast 

Where first my shipwreckt heart was lost, 

I may once more repeat my pain. 

Once more in dying" notes complain 

Of slighted vows and cold disdain. 

Prior, 



Why, Delia, ever while I gaze 
Appears in frowns that lovely face ? 
Why are those smiles to me denied 
That gladden every heart beside ? 
In vain your eyes my frame reprove, 
I may despair, but still must love. 

From sweetest airs t sought relief. 
And hoped from music cure for grief; 
Fool that I was ! the thrilling sound 
Served only to increase the wound ; 
I, while for rest I fondly strove. 
Forgot that music strengthens love. 

To pleasures of a different kind 

Soon undeceived I turn'd my mind : 

I sought the fair, the gay, the young. 

And dressed, and play'd, and danc'd and sung : 

Vain joys ! too weak my heart to move. 

Ah ! what are you to her I love ? 



AMATORY SONGS. 119 

When drooping" on the bed of pam, 

I look'd on every hope as vain ; 

When pitying" friends stood weeping* by, 

And death's pale shade seem'd hovering nigh. 

No terror could my flame remove. 

Or steal a thought from her I love. 

" Absence may bring relief," I cried. 

And straight the dreadful hope I tried ; 

Alas ! in vain was every care ; 

Still in my heart I bore my fair. 

Ah ! whither, whither shall I rove \ 

To shun despair, or fly from love ? 



While from my looks, fair nymph, you guess 

The secret passions of my mind. 
My heavy eyes, you say, confess 

A heart to love and grief inclined. 

There needs, alas ! but little art 

To have this fatal secret found ; 
With the same ease you threw the dart, 

'Tis certain you may show the wound. 

How can I see you, and not love. 
While you as opening East are fair ? 

While cold as northern blasts you prove, 
How can I love, and not despair ? 



120 AMATORY SONGS. 

The wretch in double fetters bound 
Your potent mercy may release ; 

Soon, if my love but once were crown'd, 
Fair prophetess! my grief would cease. 



The heavy hours are almost past 
That part my love and me ; 

My longing" eyes may hope at last 
Their only wish to see. 

But how, my Delia, will you meet 
The man you've lost so long I 

Will love in all your pulses beat. 
And tremble on your tongue ? 

Will you in every look declare 
Your heart is still the same ; 

And heal each idly anxious care 
Our fears in absence frame ? 

Thus, Delia, thus I paint the scene 
When shortly we shall meet. 

And try what yet remains between 
Of loit'ring time to cheat. 

But if the dream that soothes my mind 
Shall false and groundless prove. 

If I am doom'd at length to find 
You have forgot to love ; 



AMATORY SONGS. 121 

All I of Venus ask is this. 

No more to let us join : 
But grant me here the flatt'ring bliss. 

To die and think you mine. 

Lyttleton. 



If wine and music have the power 

To ease the sickness of the soul. 
Let Phoebus every string* explore. 

And Bacchus fill the sprij^htly bowl : 
Let them their friendly aid employ 

To make my Chloe's absence light, 
And seek for pleasure to destroy 

I'he sorrows of this livelong night. 

But she to-morrow will return ; 

Venus, be thou to-morrow great ; 
Thy myrtles strew, thy odours burn ; 

And meet thy favorite nymph in state. 
Kind goddess, to no other powers 

Let us to-morrow's blessings own ; 
The darling Loves shall guide the hours. 

And all the day be thine alone. 

Prior. 



122 AMATORY SOXGS. 



Honest lover, whosoever. 
If in all thy love there ever 
Was one wavering", if thy flame 
Were not still even, still the same, 
Know this. 
Thou lov'st amiss. 
And to love true, 
Thou must beg-in again and love anew. 

If, when she appears i' th' room. 
Thou dost not quake and art struck dumb. 
And in striving this to cover 
Dost thou not speak thy words twice over. 
Know this, &c. 

If fondly thou dost not mistake, 

And all defects for graces take, 
Persuad'st thyself that jests are broken 
When she has little or nothing spoken. 
Know this, &c. 

If \>hen thou appear'st to be within. 
Thou lett*st not men ask and ask again. 
And when thou answer'st, if it be 
To what was ask'd thee properly, 
Know this, &c. 



AMATORY SONGS. 123 

If when thy stomach calls to eat, 
Thou cutt'st not fingers 'stead of meat. 
And, with much gazing- on her face. 
Dost not rise hungry from the place, 
Know this, &c. 

If by this thou dost discover 
That thou art no perfect lover, 
And, desiring to love true. 
Thou dost begin to love anew, 
Know this 
Thou lov'st amiss. 
And to love true, 
Thou must begin again and love anew.* 

SUCKLIN©. 



When Delia on the plain appears. 
Awed by a thousand tender fears, 
I would approach, but dare not move ; — 
Tell me, my heart, if this be love ? 

Whene'er she speaks, my ravish'd ear 
No other voice but hers can hear ; 
No other wit but hers approve ; — 
Tell me, my heart, if this be love ? 

* The characteristic ease and sprighiliness of the writer 
appear to much advantage itj this piece, which altliough 
careless and incorrect in its language, possesses the vivacity 
rarely found in English songs unalloyed with coarseness. 



124 AMATORY SONGS. 

If she some other swain commend, 
The' I was once his fondest friend, 
His instant enemy I prove ; — 
Tell me, my heart, if this be love ? 

When she is absent, I no more 

Delight in all that pleased before. 

The clearest spring, the shadiest grove ; — 

Tell me, my heart, if this be love ? 

When fond of power, of beauty vain, 
Her nets she spreads for every swain, 
I strove to hate, but vainly strove ; — 
Tell me, my heart, if this be love ? 

Lyttleton. 



Ah ! why must w^ords my flame reveal ? 
Why needs my Damo n bid me tell 

What all my actions prove ? 
A blush whene'er I meet his eye. 
Whene'er I hear his name a sigb. 

Betrays my secret love. 

In all their sports upon the plain 
Mine eyes still fixt on him remain. 

And him alone approve ; 
The rest unheeded dance or play. 
From all he steals my praise away. 

And can he doubt my love ? 



AMATORY SONGS. 125 

Whene'er we meet, my looks confess 
The joys that all my soul possess. 

And every care remove ; 
Still, still too short appears his stay. 
The moments fly too fast away, 

Too fast for my fond love. 

Does any speak in Damon's praise, 
So pleased am I with all he says, 

I every word approve ; 
But is he blamed, although in jest, 
I feel resentment fire my breast, 

Alas ! because I love. 

But ah ! what tortures tear my heart, 
When I suspect his looks impart 

The least desire to rove ! 
I hate the maid that gives me pain. 
Yet him to hate I strive in vain, 

For ah ! that hate is love. 

Then ask not words, but read mine eyes. 
Believe my blushes, trust my sighs. 

My passion these will prove ; 
Words oft deceive, and spring from art, 
The true expressions of my heart 

To Damon, must be love. 



11 



^26 AMATORY SOXGS. 



Come here, fond youth, whoe'er thou be 

That boasts to love as well as me. 
And if thy breast have felt so wide a wound. 

Come hither and thy flame approve ; 

ril teach thee what it is to love. 
And by what marks true passion may be founds 

It is to be all bathed in tears. 

To live upon a smile for years. 
To lie whole ages at a beauty's feet ; 

To kneel, to languish and implore. 

And still, the' she disdain, adore ; 
It is to do all this, and think thy suffering's sweet. 

It is to gaze upon her eyes 

With eager joy and fond surprise. 
Yet tempered with such chaste and awful fear 

As wretches feel who wait their doom ; 

Nor must one ruder thought presume, 
Tho' but in whispers breathed, to meet her ear. 

It is to hope, tho' hope were lost, 

Tho' heaven and earth thy passion crost; 

Tho' she were bright as sainted queens above. 
And thou the least and meanest swain 
That folds his flock upon the plain. 

Yet if thou dar'st not hope, thou dost not love. 



1 



AMATORY SONGS. 127 

It is to quench thy joy in tears. 

To nurse strange doubts and groundless fears ; 
If pangs of jealousy thou hast not proved, 

Tho' she were fonder and more true 

Than any nymph old poets drew. 
Oh never dream sgain that thou hast loved. 

If when the darling maid is gone. 

Thou dost not seek to be alone. 
Wrapt in a pleasing trance of tender woe ; 

And muse, and fold thy languid arms, 

Feeding thy fancy on her charms. 
Thou dost not love, for love is nourish'd so- 

If any hopes thy bosom share 

But those which love has planted there, 
Or any cares but his thy breast enthrall. 

Thou never yet his power hast known ; 

Love sits on a despotic throne, 
And reigns a tyrant, if he reign at all. 

Now if thou art so lost a thing. 

Here all thy tender sorrows bring. 
And prove whose patience longest can endure ; 

We'll strive whose fancy shall be lost 

In dreams of fondest passion most, 
For if thou thus hast loved, oh ! never hope a cure. 

Mrs. Barbauld. 



12S AMATORY SONGS. 



You tell me that you truly love ; 

Ah ! know you well what love does mean l 
Does neither whim nor fancy move 

The rapture of your transient dream ?- 

Tell me, when absent, do you think 
O'er e'^ery look, o'er every sigh ? 

Do you in melancholy sink, 

And doubt and fear you know not why ? 

Do you, when near her, die to say 

How much you love, yet cannot tell ? 

Does a look melt your soul away, 

A touch your nerves with transport swell? 

Could you for her, fame, wealth, despise ? 

In poverty and toil feel blest. 
Drink sweet delusion from her eyes, 

Or smile at ruin on her breast ? 

The charms of every oiher fair 

With coldness could you learn to view ? 

Fondly unchang-'d to her repair. 

With transports ever young- and new ? 

And tell me, at her loss or hate. 

Would death your only refug-e prove? 

Ah! if in aught you hesitate. 
Coward ! you dare not say you love. 



AMATORY SONGS. 129 



Hard is the fate of him who loves, 
Yet dares not tell his amorous pain. 

But to the sypathetic groves. 
But to the lonely listening plain. 

Oh ! when she blesses next your shade. 
Oh ! when her footsteps next are seen 

In flowery tracks along the mead. 
In fresher mazes o^er the green, 

Ye gentle spirits of the vale. 

To whom the tears of love are dear. 

From dying lilies waft a gale. 
And sigh my sorrows in her ear. 

O, tell her what she cannot blame, 
Tho' fear my tongue must ever bind ; 

O, tell her that my virtuous flame 
Is as her spotless soul refined. 

Not her own guardian angel eyes 
With chaster tenderness his care ; 

Not purer her own wishes rise, 

Not holier her own sighs in prayer- 

But if at first her virgin fear 

Should start at love's suspected name. 

With that of friendship soothe her ear : — 
True love and friendship are the same. 

Thomson. 



loO AMATORY SONCib. 



The tears I shed must ever fall ! 

I mourn not for an absent swain, 
For thoug-ht may past delights recall. 

And parted lovers meet again. 
I weep not for the silent dead. 

Their toils are past, their sorrows o'er ; 
And those they loved their steps shall tread. 

And death shall join to part no more. 

Tho' boundless oceans roU'd between. 

If certain that his heart is near, 
A conscious transport glads each scene. 

Soft is the sigh and sweet the tear. 
E'en when by death's cold hand removed 

We mourn the tenant of the tomb. 
To think that e'en in death he loved 

Can gild the horrors of the gloom. 

But bitter, bitter are the tears 

Of her who slighted love bewails ; 
No hope her dreary prospect cheers. 

No pleasing melancholy hails. 
Hers are the pangs of wounded pride. 

Of blasted hope, of wither'd joy. 
The flattering veil is rent aside, 

The flame of love burns to destroy. 

In vain cfoes memory renew 

The hours once tinged in transport's dye 



AMATORY SONGS. 131 

The sad reverse soon starts to view, 

And turns the past to agony. 
E'en time itself despairs to cure 

Those pangs to every feeling due :* 
Ungenerous youth ! thy boast how poor, 

To win a heart — and break it too ! 

No cold approach, no alter'd mien, 

That just would make suspicion start; 
JiTo pause the dire extremes between ; 

He made me blest, and broke my heart. 
From hope, the wretched's anchor, torn. 

Neglected, and neglecting all. 
Friendless, forsaken and forlorn. 

The tears I shed must ever fall !*" 

Miss C. 



If ever thou didst joy to bind 
Two hearts in equal passion join'd, 
O son of Venus ! hear me now. 
And bid Florella bless my vow. 

If any bliss reserved for me 
Thou in the leaves of Fate shouldst see. 
If any white propitious hour 
Pregnant with hoarded joys in store ; 

* An uncommon vein of pathetic tenderness runs 
through this piece, and strongly excites tht" sympathetic 
feelings. 



132 AMATORY SONGS. 

Now, now the mighty treasure give. 
In her for whom alone I live ; 
In sterling love pay all the sum. 
And I'll absolve the fates to come. 

In all the pride of full-blown charms 
Yield her, relenting, to my arms ; 
Her bosom touch with soft desires. 
And let her feel what she inspires. 

But, Cupid, if thine aid be vain 

The dear reluctant maid to gain. 

If still with cold averted eyes 

She dash my hopes, and scorn my sighs 

O grant ('tis all I ask of thee) 
That I no more may change than she ; 
But still with duteous zeal love on. 
When every gleam of hope is gone. 

Leave me then alone to languish. 
Think not time can heal my anguish. 
Pity the woes which I endure. 
But never, never grant a cure. 

Mrs. Barbauld* 



AMATORY SONGS. 133 



As near a weeping" spring reclined. 
The beauteous Araminta pined, 

And mourn'd a false ungrateful youth ; 
While dying echoes ranght the sound, 
And spread the soft complaints around 

Of broken vows and alter'd truth ; 

An aged shepherd heard her moan. 
And thus in pity's kindest tone 

Address'd the lost despairing maid : 
"Cease, cease, unhappy fair, to grieve ; 
For sounds, tho' sweet, can ne'er relieve 

A breaking heart by love betray'd. 

" Why shouldst thou waste such precious showers, 
That fall like dew on wither'd flowers, 

But dying passion ne'er restored ? 
In beauty's empire is no mean. 
And woman, either slave or queen. 

Is quickly scorn'd when not adored. 

" Those liquid pearls from either eye. 
Which might an eastern empire buy. 

Unvalued here and fruitless fall ; 
No art the season can renew 
When love was young, and Damon true, 

No tears a wanderings heart reoaTl. 



134 AMATORY SONGS. ^ 

J 

*' Cease, cease to grieve, thy tears are vain, i 

Should those fair orbs in drops of rain 

Vie with a weeping" southern sky ; 
For hearts overcome with love and grief 
All nature yields but one relief : 

Die, hapless Aramis^ta, die '* 

Mrs. Barbauld. 



Ah stay ! ah turn ! ah whither would you fly. 
Too charming, too relentless maid ? 

I follow not to conquer but to die ; 
You of the fearful are afraid. 

In vain I call ; for she, like fleeting air. 
When prest by some tempestuous wind, 

Plies swifter from the voice of my despair. 
Nor casts one pitying look behind.* 

CONGREVE. 



Sweet maid, I hear thy frequent sigh. 
And mourn to see thy languid eye ; 
For well I know these symptoms prove 
Thy heart a prey to secret love. 
But tho* so hard a fate be thine. 
Think not thy grief can equal mine. 

* In Rowe's « Fair Penitent." 



AMATORY SONGS. 135 

Hope may thy vanish'd bloom restore : 
I sigh for him -who lives no more. 

The youth for whom thy bosom sighs 
Shall oft delight thy conscious eyes ; 
And oft his voice, in accents sweet. 
Shall friendship's soothing song repeat. 
But he for whom my cheek is pale. 
For whom my health and spirits fail. 
Nought to my eyes can e'er restore. 
And I shall hear his voice no more. 

Thou in existence still canst find 
A charm to captivate thy mind, 
To make the morning ray delight. 
And gild the gloomy brow of night. 
But Nature's charms to me are fled ; 
I nought behold but Henry dead : 
What can my love of life restore ? 
I sigh for him who lives no more. 

Mrs. Opii;. 



Dried be that tear, my gentlest love, 
Be husht that struggling sigh ; 

Not seasons, day, nor Fate shall prove 
More fixt, more true than I. 

Husht be that sigh, be dry that tear, 

Cease, boding doubt — cease, anxious fear! 



135 AMATORY SONGS. 

Dost ask how long- my vows shall stay 

When all that's new is past ? 
How long, my Delia ? can I say 

How lon^ my life will last ? 
Dried be that tear, be husht that sigh. 
At least I'll love thee till I die. 

And does that thought affect thee too, 

The thought of Sylvio's death, 
That he who only breathes for you 

Must yield that faithful breath ? 
Husht be that sigh, be dried that tear, 
Nor let us lose our heaven here ! 

R. B. Sheridan. 



Ah ! tell me not that jealous fear 
Betrays a weak suspicious mind; 

Were I less true, and thou less dear, 
I should be blest, and thou be kind. 

But while, by giddy fancy led. 
In search of joy you wildly rove, 

Say, can my mind be free from dread. 
When every sense is chain'd by love ? 

Yet soon my anxious fears shall cease ; 

Since I am doom'd from thee to part. 
That day will give me lasting peace. 

For oh ! that day will break my heart. 



AMATORY SONGS MSt 



f p in that breast, so g'ood, so pure. 

Compassion ever loved to dwell, 
Pity the sorrows I endure; 

The cause I must not, dare not tell. 

The grief that on my quiet preys, 

That rends my heart, that checks my tongue^ 
I fear will last me all my days. 

But feel it will not last me long.* 

Sir J. MooRE. 



Too plain, dear youth, these tell-tale eyes 

My heart your own declare ; 
But for heaven's sake let it suffice 

You reign triumphant there ! 

Forbear your utmost power to try. 

Nor further urge your sway ; 
Press not for what I must deny. 

For fear I should obey. 

Could all your arts successful prove. 

Would you a maid undo 
Whose greatest failing is her love. 

And that, her love for you ? 

* From the French. 
12 



138 AMATORY SONGS. 

Say, would you use that very power 

You from her fondness claim. 
To ruin in one fatal hour 

A life of spotless fame ? 

Resolve not then to do an ill 

Because perhaps you may. 
But rather use your utmost skill 

To save me than betray. 

Be you yourself my virtue's guard. 

Defend and not pursue. 
Since 'tis a task for me too hard 

To strive with love and you. 

SoAME Jenyns. 



By my sighs you may discover 
What soft wishes touch my heart; 

Eyes can speak, and tell the lover 
What the tongue must not impart. 

Blushing shame forbids revealing 

Thoughts your breast may disapprove ; 

But 'tis hard, and past concealing, 
When we truly, fondly love. 



i 



AMATORY SONGS. 



Strephon, when you see me fly 
Let not this your fear create : 

Maids may be as often shy 
Out of love as out of hate : 

When from you I fly away, 

It is because I dare not stay. 

Did I out of hatred run. 

Less you'd be my pain and care ; 
But the youth I love, to shun. 

Who can such a trial bear ? 
Who that such a swain did see. 
Who could love and fly like me r 

Cruel duty bids me g-o. 

Gentle love commands me stay ; 
Duty's still to love a foe. 

Shall I this or that obey ? 
Duty frowns, and Cupid smiles ; 
That defends, and this beguiles. 

Ever by these crystal streams 
I could sit and hear thee sig-h ; 

llavisht with these pleasing dreams, 
O 'tis worse than death to fly : 

But the danger is so great. 

Fear gives wings, instead of hate. 



i4G AMATORY SONGS. 

Strephon, if you love me, leave me j 
If you stay, I am undone ; 

Oh ! with ease you may deceive me ! 
Pri*thee, charming* swain, be gone. 

Heav'n decrees that we should part ; 

That has my vows, but you my heart. 



When first I saw thee graceful move. 
Ah me, what meant my throbbing breast ! 

Say, soft confusion, art thou love ? 
If love thou art, then farewell rest! 

Since doom'd I am to love thee, fair, 
Tho' hopeless of a warm return. 

Yet kill me not with cold despair. 
But let me live, and let me burn. 

With gentle smiles assuage the pain 
Those gentle smiles did first create ; 

And, tho' you cannot love again, 
In pity, oh ! forbear to hate. 



i DID but look and love awhile, 
'Twas but for one half hour ; 

Then to resist I had no vi ill, 
And now I have no power. 



AMATORY SONGS. 141 

To sigh, to wish, is all my ease ; 

Sighs, which do heat impart 
Enough to melt the coldest ice. 

Yet cannot warm your heart. 

O ! would your pity give my heart 

A corner of your breast, 
'Twould learn of yours the winning art. 

And quickly steal the rest. 

Otway. 



TO CUPID 

ON valentine's day. 

Come, tliou rosy-dimpled boy. 
Source of every heart-felt joy. 
Leave the blissful bowers awhile, 
Paphos and the Cyprian isle ; 
Visit Britain's rocky shore, 
Britons too thy power adore, 
Britons, hardy, bold and free, 
Own thy laws and yield to thee. 
Source of every heartfelt joy. 
Come, thou rosy-dimpled boy ! 

Haste to Sylvia, haste away, 
This is thine and Hymen's day : 
Bid her thy soft bondage wear. 
Bid her for love's rites prepare. 

12* 



142 AMATORY SONGS. 

Let the nymphs with many a flower 
Deck the sacred nuptial bower. 
Thither lead the lovely fair. 
And let Hymen too be there. 
This is thine and Hymen's day, 
Haste to Sylvia, haste away. 

Only while we love, we live. 
Love alone can pleasure give. 
Pomp, and power, and tinsel state. 
Those false pageants of the great. 
Crowns and sceptres, envied things. 
And the pride of eastern kings, 
Are but childish empty toys 
When compared to love's sweet joys. 
Love alone can pleasure give. 
Only while we love, we live. 

Parrat 



Lesbia, live to love and pleasure, 
Careless what the grave may say : 

When each moment is a treasure. 
Why should lovers lose a day I. 

Setting suns shall rise in glory ; 

But when little life is o'er; 
There's an end of all the story ; 

We shall sleep to wake no more 



AMATORY SONGS. 143 

Give me then a thousand kisses, 
Twice ten thousand more bestow, 

Till the sum of boundless blisses 
Neither we, nor envy know.* 

Langhorn. 



When Fanny blooming fair 

First caught my ravisht sight. 
Struck with her shape and air, 

I felt a strange delight : 
Whilst eagerly I gaz'd. 

Admiring every part. 
And every feature praised. 

She stole into my heart. 

In her bewitching eyes 

Ten thousand loves appear ; 
There Cupid basking lies. 

His shafts are hoarded there ; 
Her blooming cheeks are dyed 

With colour all their own. 
Excelling far the pride 

Of roses newly blown. 

Her well-turn'd limbs confess 
The lucky hand of Jove ; 

Her features all express 
The beauteous Queen of Love ; 

* From Catullus. 



144 AMATORY SONGS. 

What flames my nerves invade 

When I behold the breast 
Of that too charming maid 

Rise, suing to be prest ! 

Venus round Fanny's waist 

Has her own cestus bound. 
With guardian Cupid^s graced 

Who dance the circle round. 
How happy must he be 

Who shall her zone unloose ! 
That bliss to all, but me. 

May heaven and she refuse !* 

Chesterfield. 



Now see my Goddess, earthly born,f 
With smiling looks and sparkling eyes. 
And with a bloom that shames the morn 
New risen in the eastern skies ! 

Furnish'd from nature's boundless store. 
And one of pleasure's laughing train. 
Stranger to all the wise explore. 
She proves all far-sought knowledge vain. 



* Written on Lady Frances Shirley. 
f This song is designed as a contrast to an address t« 
Wisdom. 



AMATORY SONGS. 145 

Untaught as Venus, when she found 
Herself first floating on the sea. 
And laughing begg'd the Tritons round 
For shame to look some other way : 

And unaccomplish'd all as Eve 

In the first morning of her life. 

When Adam blush'd, and ask'd her leave. 

To take her hand, and call her wife. 

Yet there is something in her face, 
Tho' she's unread in Plato's lore. 
Might bring e'en Plato to disgrace. 
For leaving precepts taught before. 

And there is magic in her eye, 
Tho' she's unskill'd to conjure down 
The pale moon from th' affrighted sky, 
Would draw Endymion from the moon. 

And there are words that she can speak, 
Most easy to be understood. 
More sweet than all the Heathen Greek 
By Helen spoke when Paris woo*d. 

And she has raptures in her power, 
More worth than all the flatt'ring claim 
Of learning's unsubstantial dower. 
In present praise or future fame. 

Let me but kiss her soft warm hand, 
And let me whisper in her ear 



146 AMATORY SONGS. 

What Knowledg-e would not understand, 
And Wisdom would disdain to hear. 

And let her listen to my tale. 
And let one smiling blush arise. 
Blest omen that my vows prevail ! 
1*11 scorn the scorn of all the wise. 



Ah, how sweet it is to love ! 

Ah, how gay is young desire ! 
And what pleasing pains we prove 

When we first approach love's firei 
Pains of love are sweeitr far 
Than all other pleasures are. 

Sighs which are from lovers blown 
Do but gently heave the heart : 

E'en the tears they shed alone 
Cure, like trickling balm, their smart. 

Lovers, when they lose their breath. 

Bleed away in easy death. 

liOve and time with rev'rence use. 
Treat them like a parting friend ; 

Nor the golden gifts refuse 

Which in youth sincere they send : 

For each year their price is more. 

And they less simple than before. 



AMATORY SONGS. 147 

Love, like spring'-tldes full and high. 

Swells in every youthful vein ; 
But each tide does less supply. 

Till they quite shrink in again. 
J[f a flow in age appear, 
'Tis but rain, and runs not clear. 

Drydekt. 



Ah ! tell me no more, my dear girl, with a sigh. 
That a coldness will creep o'er my heart. 

That a sullen indifference will dwell on my eye> 
When thy beauty begins to depart. 

Shall thy graces, O Cynthia ! that gladden my day, 
And brighten the gloom of the night. 

Till life be extinguish'd, from memory stray. 
Which it ought to review with delight ? 

Upbraiding, shall Gratitude say, with a tear, 
" That no longer I think of those charms 

Which gave to my bosom such rapture sincere. 
And faded at length in my arms 1" 

WJiy yes ! it may happen, thou damsel divine !— 

To be honest — I freely declare 
That e'en now to thy converse so much I incline, 

IVe already forgot thou art fair. 

WOLCOTT* 



U8 AMATORY SONGS. 



4 



^Tis not the liquid brightness of those eyes. 

That swim with pleasure and delight ; 

Nor those fair heavenly arches which arise 

O'er each of them to shade their light ; 

'Tis not that hair which plays with every wind. 

And loves to wanton round thy face ; 

Now straying o'er thy forehead, now behind 

Retiring with insidious grace : 

'Tis not that lovely range of teeth, as white 
As new-shorn sheep, equal and fair ; 
Nor e'en that gentle smile, the heart's delight. 
With which no smile could e'er compare ; 
^Tis not that chin so round, that neck so fine? 
Those breasts that swell to meet my love ; 
That easy sloping waist, that form divine. 
Nor aught below, nor aught above : 



^Tis not the living colours over each, 

By nature's finest pencil wrought. 

To shame the fresh-blown rose and blooming peachy 

And mock the happiest painter's thought : 

But 'tis that gentle mind, that ardent love. 

So kindly answering my desire ; 

That grace with which you look, and speak, and move. 

That thus have set mv soul on fire. 



AMATORY SONGS. 149 



While, Strephon, thus you tease one 

To say what won my heart. 
It cannot, sure, be treason, 

If I the truth impart. 

'Twas not your smile, tho' charming, 
'Twas not your eyes, tho* bright, 

'Twas not your bloom, tho' warming. 
Nor beauty's dazzling light : 

Twas not your dress, tho' shining. 

Nor shape, that made me sigh ; 
'Twas not your tongue, combining, 

For that, 1 knew, might lie. 

No : — 'twas your generous nature,, 

Bold, soft, sincere, and gay : 
It shone in every feature, ^ 

And stole my heart away. 

Whistler* 



The shape alone let others prize. 
The features of the fair ; 

I look for spirit in her eyes, 
And meaning in her air. 
13 



ij<-> AMATORY SONGS. 

A damask cheek and ivory .arm 

Shall ne'er my wishes win ; 
Give me an animated form 

That speaks a mind within ; 

A face where awful honour shines. 
Where sense and sweetness move. 

And ang-el innocence refines 
The tenderness of love- 

These are the soul of beauty's frame, 

Without whose vital aid 
Unfinisht all her features seem. 

And all her roses dead. 

But ah ! where both their charms unite. 

How perfect is the view. 
With every image of delight, 

With graces ever new ! 

Of power to charm the deepest woe. 

The wildest rage control ; 
Diffusing mildness o'er the brow. 

And rapture thro' the soul. 

Their power but faintly to express 

All language must despair ; 

But go behold Aspasia's face. 

And read it perfect there. 

Akenside.* 

* Assigned to this author by Ritson, but not contained 
in his Works. 



i 



AMATORY SONGS. 15 I 



Kitty's charming voice and face. 

Syren-like, first caught mv fancy ; 
Wit and humour next take place. 

And now I dote on sprightly Nancy. 

Kitty tunes her pipe in vain ^ 

With airs most languishing and dying ; 

Calls me false ungrateful swain, 

And tries in vain to shoot me flying. 

Nancy, with resistless art, 

Alw'ays humorous, gay and witty. 
Has talk'd herself into my heart. 

And quite excluded tuneful Kitty. 

Ah Kitty ! Love, a wanton boy. 

Now pleased with song, and now with prattle^^ 
Sftill longing for the newest toy. 

Has changed his whistle for a rattle. 



WouLDST thou know her sacred charms 
Who this destined heart alarms. 
What kind of nymph the heavens decree 
That maid that's made for love and me : 



152 AMATORY SONGS. 

Who pants to hear the sig'h sincere. 
Who melts to see the tender tear. 
From each ungentle passion free ; 
Such the maid that's made for me. 

Who joys whene'er she sees me glad. 
Who sorrows when she sees me sad, 
k For peace and me can pomp resign : 
Such the heart that's made for mine. 

Whose soul with generous friendship glows ^ 
Who feels the blessing she bestows ; 
Gentle to all, but kind to me : 
Such be mine, if such there be. 

Whose genuine thoughts, devoid of art. 
Are all the natives of her heart ; 
A simple train, from falshood free : 
Such the maid that's made for me. 

A vaunt, ye light coquets ! retire. 
Whom glittering fops around admire j 
Unmoved your tinsel charms I see : 
More genuine beauties are for me. 

Should Love, fantastic as he is. 

Raise up some rival to my bliss, 

And should she change — bnt can that ber 

No other maid is made for me. 

Hamilton. 



AMATORY SONGS. I 53 



Hail to the myrtle shade. 

All hail to the nymphs of the fields! 
King's would not here invade 

The pleasure that virtue yields. 
Beauty here opens her arms 

To soften the lang-uishing* mind. 
And Phyllis unlocks her charms ; 

Ah Phyllis ! oh why so kind ? 

Phyllis, thou soul of love, 

Thou joy of the neighbouring swains ; 
Phyllis, that crowns the grove. 

And Phyllis that gilds the plains ; 
Phyllis, that ne'er had the skill 

To paint, to patch and be fine. 
Yet Phyllis whose eyes can kill. 

Whom nature hath made divine. 

Phyllis, whose charming song 

Makes labour and pains a delight ; 
Phyllis, that makes the day young, 

And shortens the livelong night ; 
Phyllis, whose lips like May 

Still laugh at the sweets they bring ; 
Where love never knows decay. 

But sits with eternal spring. 

Lee. 

13* 



d 



154 AMATORY SONGS. 



Tell me no more how fair she is ; 

I have no mind to hear 
The story of that distant bliss 

I never shall come near : 
By sad experience I have found 
That her perfection is my wound. 

And tell me not how fond I am 
To tempt my daring- fate. 

From whence no triumph ever came 
But to repent too late : 

There is some hope ere long I may 

In silence dote myself away. 



I ask no pity. Love, from thee. 

Nor will thy justice blame. 
So that thou wilt not envy me. 

The glory of my flame. 
Which crowns my heart whene'er it dies. 
In that it falls her sacrifice. 

Hen. King, 
Bishop of Chichester. 



From thy waves, stormy Lannow, I fly. 
From the rocks that are lash'd by their tide ; 
From the maid whose cold bosom, relentless as they. 
Has wreckt my warm hopes by her pride. 



AMATORY SONGS. 155 

Yet lonely and rude as the scene, 
Her smile to that scene could impart 
A charm that might rival the bloom of the vale ;— • 
But away thou fond dream of my heart ! 
To thy rocks, stormy Lannow, adieu ! 

Now the blasts of the winter come on. 
And the waters grow dark as they rise ; 
But 'tis well ! — they resemble the sullen disdain 
That has lour'd in those insolent eyes. 
Sincere were the sighs it repress'd. 
But they rose in the days that are flown : 
Ah, nymph ! unrelenting and cold as thou art. 
My spirit is proud as thy own. 

To thy rocks, stormy Lannow, adieu ! 

Lo ! the wings of the sea-fowl are spread 

To escape the rough storm by their flight ; 

And these caves will afford them a gloomy retreat 

From the winds and the billows of night. 

Like them to the home of my youth. 

Like them to its shades I retire : 

Receive me, and shield my vext spirit, ye groves ! 

From the storms of insulted desire. 

From thy waves, rocky Lannow, I fly ! 

Anna Seward. 



156 AMATORY SONGS. 



While in the bower with beauty blest 

The loved Amintor lies, 
While sinking on Zelinda's breast 

He fondly kiss'd her eyes ; 

A waking nightingale, who long 
Had mourn'd within the shade. 

Sweetly renew'd her plaintive song 
And warbled thro' the glade. 

" Melodious songstress," cried the swain, 

*' To shades less happy go ; 
Or, if with us thou wilt remain. 

Forbear thy tuneful woe. 

" While in Zelinda's arms I lie. 

To song I am not free ; 
On her soft bosom while I sigh, 

I discord find in thee. 

" Zelinda gives me perfect joys ; 

Then cease thy fond intrusion ; 
Be silent ; music now is-noise. 

Variety, confusion." 



AMATORTf SONGS. 157 



WhenTSappho tuned the raptured strain. 
The list'ning wretch forgot his pain ; 
With art divine the lyre she strung. 
Like thee she play'd, like thee she sung. 

For while she struck the quivering wire 
The eager breast was all on fire j 
And when she joined the vocal lay. 
The captive soul was charm'd away. 

But had she added still to these 
Thy softer, chaster, power to please ; 
Thy beauteous air of sprightly youth. 
Thy native smiles of artless truth ; 

She ne'er had pined beneath disdain. 
She ne'er had play'd and sung in vain ; 
Despair had ne'er her soul possest 
To dash on rocks the tender breast. 

Smollett. 



Go, plaintive sounds! and to the fair 
My secret wounds impart ; 

.Tell all I hope, tell all I fear. 
Each motion in my heart. 

But she, methinks, is list'ning now 
To some enchanting strain ; 



158 AMATORY SONGS. 

The smile that triumphs o'er her brow- 
Seems not to heed my pain. 

Yes, plaintive sounds ! yet, yet delay, 

Howe'er my love repine ; 
Let that gay minute pass away, 

The next perhaps is thine. 

Yes, plaintive sounds ! no longer crost. 

Your grief shall soon be o'er ; 
Her cheek, undimpled now, has lost 

The smile it lately wore. 

Yes, plaintive sounds ! she now is yours, 

'Tis now your time to move ; 
Essay to soften all her powers. 

And be that softness, love. 

Cease, plaintive sounds \ your task is done ; 

That anxious tender air 
Proves o'er her heart the conquest won ; 

I see you melting there. 



Return, ye smiles, return again ; 

Return, each sprightly grace ; 
I yield up to your charming reign 

All that enchanting face. 



I 



I take no outward show amiss. 

Rove where you will, her eyes ; 
Still let her smiles each shepherd bless. 

So she but hear my sighs. 

Hamilton 



AMATORY SONGS. 159 



When charming Teriminta sings 
Each new air new passion brings ; 
Now I resolve, and now I fear ; 
Now I triumph, now despair ; 
Frolic now, now faint I grow ; 
Now I freeze, and now I glow. 
The panting zephyrs round her play, 
And trembling on her lips would stay ; 

Now would listen, now would kiss, 
Trembling with divided bliss ; 
Till, by her breath repulsed, they fly, 
And in low pleasing murmurs die. 
Nor do I ask that she would give. 
By some new note, the power to live ; 
I would, expiring with the sound. 
Die on the lips that gave the wound. 



My dear mistress has a heart 

Soft as those kind looks she gave me, 
When with love's resistless art. 

And her eyes, she did enslave me : 
But her constancy's so weak. 

She's so wild and apt to wander. 
That my jealous heart would break 

Should we live one day asunder. 



160 AMATORY SONGS. 

Melting joys about her move. 

Wounding pleasures, killing blisses ^ 
She can dress her eyes in love. 

And her lips can arm with kisses ; 
Angels listen when she speaks. 

She's my delight, all mankind's wonder^ 
But my jealous heart would break 

Should we live one day asunder. 

Rochester 



Let the ambitious favour find 

In courts and empty noise. 
While greater love does fill my mind 

AVith silent real joys. 

Let fi^ols and knaves grow rich and great. 

And the world think 'em wise, 
Whilst I lie dying at her feet. 

And all that world despise. 

Let conquering kings new trophies raise. 

And melt in court delights. 
Her eyes can give me brighter days. 

Her arms much softer nights. 

Dorset. 



AMATORY SONGS. 161 



Come, let us now resolve at last 

To live and love in quiet ; 
We'll tie the knot so very fast. 

That time shall ne'er untie it. 

The truest joys they seldom prove 

Who free from quarrels live ; 
^Tis the most tender part of love 

Each other to forgive. 

When least I seem'd concerned, I took 

No pleasure and no rest ; 
And when I feign'd an angry look, 

Alas ! I loved you best. 

Own but the same to me, you'll find 

How blest will be our fate : 
Oh ! to be happy, to be kind. 

Sure never is too late. 

Sheffield, Duke of Buckinghanh 



From all uneasy passions free, 
Revenge, ambition, jealousy, 
Contented, I had been too blest 
If love and you had let me rest : 
Yet that dull life I now despise ; 

Safe from your eyes 
I fear'd no griefs, but then I found no joys. 
14 



162 AMATORY SONGS. 

Amidst a thousand kind desires 
"Which beauty moves, and love inspires. 
Such pangB I feel of tender fear. 
No heart so soft as mine can bear. 
Yet I'll defy the worst of harms. 

Such are your chamns, 
*Tis worth a life to die within your arms. 

Sheffield, Duke of Buckingham - 



Oft on the troubled ocean's face 
Loud stormy winds arise ; 

The murmuring" surges swell apace. 
And clouds obscure the skies. 

But when the tempest's rage is o'er. 

Soft breezes smoothe the main ; 
The billows cease to lash the shore. 

And all is calm again. 

Not so in fond and amorou.s souls 
If tyrant love once reigns, 

There one eternal tempest rolls. 
And yields unceasing pains. 



Prepared to raU, resolved to pai't. 
When I approach the perjured maid 

What is it awes my timorous heart ? ' 
Vi'hy is my tongue afraid ? 



AMATORY SONGS. 163 

With the least glance a little kind 

Such wondrous power have Myra's charms. 
She calms my doubts, enslaves ray mind. 

And all my rage disarms. 

Forgetful of her broken vows 

When gazing on that form divine, 
Her injured vassal trembling bows. 

Nor dares her slave repine. 

Lansdowne. 



Gome, all ye youths whose hearts e'er bled 

By cruel beauty's pride ; 
Bring each a garland on his head, 

Let none his sorrows hide : 
But hand in hand around we move. 
Singing the saddest tales of love ; 
And see, when your complaints ye join, 
3f all your wrongs can equal mine. 

The happiest mortal once was T, 

My heart no sorrows knew ; 
Pity the pain with which I die. 

But ask not whence it grew : 
Yet if a tempting fair you find, 
That's very lovely, very kind, 
Tho' bright as heaven whose stamp she bears, 
Thinly of my fate, and shun her snares. 

Otway, 



i64 AMATORY SONGS. 



Slow spreads the gloom my soul desires^ 
The sun from India's shore retires ; 
To Evanbanks, with temperate ray. 
Home of my youth, it leads the day. 
Oh, banks to me for ever dear ! 
Oh, stream whose murmurs still I hear t 
All, all mv hopes of bliss reside 
Where Evan mingles with the Clyde. 

And she, in simple beauty drest. 
Whose image lives within my breast, 
Who trembling heard my parting sigh. 
And long pursued me with her eye ; 
Does she, wiih heart unchanged as mine. 
Oft in the vocal bowers recline, 
Or where yon grot o'erhangs the tide. 
Muse, while the Evan seeks the Clyde? 

Ye lofty banks that Evan bound. 
Ye lavish woods that wave around, 
And o'er the stream your shadows throw, 
Which sweetly winds so far below ; 
What secret charm to memory brings 
All that on Evan's border springs ? 
Sweet banks! ye bloom by Mary's side; 
Blest stream ' she views thee haste to Clyde 

Can all the wealth of TnJia's coast 9 

Atone for years in abf.ence lost ? 



AMATORY SONGS, 165 

Return, ye moments of delight ! 

With richer treasures bless my sight ; 

Swift from this desert let me part. 

And fly to meet a kindred heart ; 

Nor more may aught my steps divide 

From that dear stream which flows to Clyde* 

Burns. 



Tell my Strephon that I die ; 

Let echoes to each other tell. 
Till the mournful accents fly 

To Strephon's ear, and all is well. 

But gently breathe the fatal truth, 
And soften every harsher sound. 

For Strephon 's such a tender youth, 
The softest words too deep will ^ound 

Now, fountains, echoes, all be dumb ; 

For, should I cost my swain a tear, 
I should repent it in my tomb. 

And grieve I bought my rest so dear 



in* 



166 AMATORY SONGS, 



From place to place, forlorn, I g"©^ 
With downcast eyes, a silent shade 4 

Forbidden to declare my woe ; 
To speak, till spoken to, afraid.* 

My inward pangs, my secret grief. 
My soft consenting looks betray ; 

He loves, but gives me no relief; 
Why speaks not he who may ? 



3 



Steel. 



I HAVE a silent sorrow here, 

A grief 1*11 ne'er impart ; 
It breathes no sigh, it sheds no tear. 

But it consumes my heart. 

This cherisht woe, this loved despair. 

My lot for ever be, 
So, my soul's lord ! the pangs I beax* 

Be never known by thee. 

And when pale characters of death 

Shall murk this alter'd cheek. 
When my poor wasted trembling breath 

My life's lost hope would speak, — 

*This IS a very ingenious allusion to the populai' no- 
tion that ghosts are not permitted to spe^k till first ad- 
dressed by the beholder. 



AMATORY SONGS. 167 

1 shall not raise my eyes to heaven. 

Nor mercy ask for me ; 
My soul despairs to be forgiven, 

Unpardon'd, love ! by thee.* 

R. B. Sheridan 



There is one dark and sullen hour 

Which fate decrees our lives should know. 
Else we should slight th' Almighty power. 

Wrapt in the joys we find below : 
*Tis past, dear Cynthia, now let frowns begone 

A long, long penance I have done 

For crimes, alas ! to me unknown. 

In each soft hour of silent night 

Your image in my dream appears ; 
I grasp the soul of my delight. 

Slumber in joys, but wake in tears ; 
Ah ! faithless charming saint, what will you do ? 

Let me not think I am by you 

Loved less for being true. 



* From the play of The Stranger, in the character of 
inn unfaithful but penitent wife. 



I 68 AMATORY SONGS. 



Can loving" father ever prove 
From loving' daughter purer love ? 
Por him my duteous prayers ascend ; 
To him my kindest wishes tend : 
If sickness bid his spirits fly, 
Or blanch his cheek, or dim his eye. 
Till health my anxious care relieve. 
How do I, sad one ! droop and grieve ! 
Yet ah ! I own with conscious shame, 
'Tis mine to love a dearer name. 

Sweet soothing" task ! I daily trace 

Affection in a mother's face ; 

Its rising" flush delighted see, 

And catch the sigh that breathes for me. 

Can I thy long long cares review 

And cheat affection of its due ? 

No, mother, never ! — Saints above 

Feel not the fervour of my love : 

But still, I own with conscious shame, 

'Tis mine to love a dearer name. 

Oh, Henry, say, my only pride ! 
Should tender hearts like these divide ? 
Sure righteous heaven can ne'er approve! 
Sure mine it calls unhallow'd love ! 
Yet would the soft parental voice 
Confirm and sanctify my choice. 



AMATORY SONGS. 169 

Bid iTie my best affection giv^e 

To him for whom indeed I live — 

Than father— mother — dearer name 

Nor heart could wish, nor tongue could frame. 



Fair, and soft, and gay, and young. 

All charm ! she play'd, she danced, she sung, 

There was no way to 'scape the dart. 

No care could guard the lover's heart. 

"Ah! why,' cried I, and dropp'd a tear, 

(Adoring, yet despairing e'er 

To have her to myself alone) 

" Was so much sweetness made for one ?" 

But growing bolder, in her ear 
I in soft numbers told my care : 
She heard, and raised me from her feet, 
And seem'd to glow with equal heat. 
Like heaven's, too mighty to express. 
My joys could but be known by guess ! 
" Ah ! fool," said I, " what have I 'done, 
To wish her made for more than one ?'* 

But long I had not been in view, 
Before her eyes their beams withdrew ; 
Ere I had reckon'd half her charms 
She sunk into another's arms. 



170 AMATORY SONGS. 

But she that once could faithless be. 
Will favour him no more than me : 
He too will find himself undone, 
And that she was not made for one. 



Tho' cruel you seem to my pain. 
And hate me because I am true ; 

Yet, Phyllis, you love a false swain. 
Who has other nymphs in his view. 

Enjoyment's a trifle to him. 

To me what a heaven 'twould be ! 

To him but a woman you seem. 
But, ah ! you're an angel to me. 

Those lips which he touches in haste. 
To them I for evar could grow ; 

Still clinging around that dear waist 
Which he spans as beside him you go. 

That arm like a lily so white. 

Which over his shoulders you lay. 

My bosom could warm it all night. 
My lips they could press it all day. 

Were I like a monarch to reign, 
Were Graces my subjects to be, 

I'd leave them, and fly to the plain. 
To dwell in a cottage with thee. 



3 



AMATORY SONGS. 171 

But if I must feel your disdain. 

If tears cannot cruelty drown. 
Oh ! let me not live in this pain, 

But give me my death in a frown. 

Carey. 



Ye shepherds and nymphs that adorn the gay plain. 
Approach from your sports and attend to my strain 5 
Among-st all yonr number a lover so true 
Was ne'er so undone with such bliss in his view. 

Was ever a nymph so hard-hearted as mine ? 
She knows me sincere, and she sees how 1 pine ; 
She does not disdain me, nor frown in her wrath. 
But calmly and mildly resigns me to death. 

She calls me her friend, but her lover denies ; 

She smiles when I'm cheerful, but hears not my sighs 

A bosom so flinty, so gentle an air, 

Inspires me with hope, and yet bids me despair. 

I fall at jjer feet and implore her with tears ; 

Her answer confoiindvS, while her manner endears : 

When softly she tells me to hope no relief. 

My trembling lips bless her in spite of my grief. 

By night, when I slumber, still haunted with care, 
I start up in anguish, and sigli for the fair : 
The fair sleeps in peace, may she ever do so ! 
And only when dreaming imagine my woe. 



172 AMATORY SONGS. 

Then gaze at a distance, nor further aspire, 
Nor think she could love whom she cannot admire 
Hush all thy complaining", and, dying* her slave, 
Commend her to heaven, and thyself to the g-rave. 

Hamilton 



J 



Ye happy swains, whose hearts are free 

From love's imperial chain. 
Take warning and be taught by me 

To avoid th' enchanting pain ; 
Fatal the wolves to trembling flocks. 

Fierce winds to blossoms proves, 
To careless seamen hidden rocks. 

To human quiet love. 



Fly the fair sex if bliss you prize. 

The snake's beneath the flower ; 
Whoever gazed on beauteous eyes 

That tasted quiet more ? 
How faithless is the lover's joy ! 

How constant is their care ! 
The kind with falsehood do destroy. 

The cruel with despair. 

Etheridgb 



AMATORY SONGS. i7o 



When your beauty appears 

In its graces and airs. 
All brig'ht as an ang-el new dropt from the sky ; 
At distance I gaze, and am awed by my fears. 

So strangely you dazzle my eye 1 

But when without art 

Your kind thoughts you impart, 
When your love runs in blushes thro' every vein ; 
When it darts from your eyes, when it pants in your 
heart. 

Then I know you 're a woman again. 

" There's a passion and pride 

In our sex," she replied, 
*' And thus, might I gratify both, would I do ; 
Still an angel appear to each lover beside. 

But yet be a woman to you." 

Parnel. 



As Amoret with Phyllis sat 

One evening on the plain^ 
And saw the gentle St re ph on wait 

To tell the nymph his pain. 
The threatening danger to remove. 

She whisper'd in her ear, 
"Ah Phyllis ! if you would not love. 

That shepherd do not hear. 
15 



174 amatohy songs. 

*' None ever had so strange an art 

His passion to convey 
Into a listening" virgin's heart. 

And steal her soul away. 
Ply, fly betimes, for fear you give 

Occasion for your fate." 
"In vain," said she, "in vain I strive; 

Alas ! 'tis now too late." 

Sir Carr Scrope. 



Gax love be controled by advice : 

Can madness and reason a^ree ! 
O Molly, who'd ever be wise. 

If madness is loving of thee ? 
Let sages pretend to despise 

The joys they want spirits to taste : 
Let us seize old Time as he flies, 

And the blessings of life v.- bile they last. 

Dull wisdom but adds to our cares : 

Brisk love will improve ev'ry joy ; 
Too soon we may meet with gray hairs. 

Too late may repent being coy. 
Then, Molly, for what should we stay 

Till our best blood begins to run cold r 
Our youth we can have but today. 

We may always find time to grow old. 

Berkeley. 



n 



AMATORY SONGS. 175* 



Think no more, my gentle maid. 

To withhold the promised treasure : 
Can thy tongue delay persuade. 

While thine eyes persuade to pleasure ? 
Long, too long, thine arts have strove 

'Gainst my love to arm my reason ; 
Pleading youth in bar of love 

Is in Cupid's court a treason. 

While from day to day I spy 

Some new charm its sweets disclosing^, 
Thought presents to fancy's eye 

What from day to day I'm losing. 
Shall the budded rose expand 

On the air its beauties wasting, 
Cropt by no desiring hand. 

None its early fragrance tasting ? 

Gentle maid, resign thy fears ; 

Or, if fears thou must be feeling". 
Dread the silent theft of years. 

Youth, and joy, and beauty stealing. 
Shield thee, shield thee in my arms 

From the fiend all bliss destroying ; 
Make me guardian of thy charms ; 

I'll secure them — by enjoying, 

J. A. 



176 AMATORY SONGS. 



Why, cruel creature, why so bent 

To vex a tender heart ? 
To gold and title you relent ; 

Love throws in vain his dart. 

Let glittering fops in courts be great. 

For pay let armies move ; 
Beaut) should have no other bait 

But gentle vows and love. 

If on those endless charms you lay 

The value that's their due. 
Kings are themselves too poor to pay, 
A thousand worlds too few. 

But if a passion without vice. 

Without disguise or art. 
Ah, Celia ! if true love's your price. 

Behold it in my heart. 

Lansdowne. 



Forever, Fortune, wilt thou prove 
An unrelenting foe to love ; 
And, when we meet a mutual heart. 
Come in between and bid us part ? 

Bid us sigh on from day to day. 
And wish, and wish the soul away, 
Till youth and genial years are flown. 
And all the life of life is gone ? 



AMATORY SONGS. 177 

But busy, busy still art thou 
To bind the loveless joyless vovy, 
The heart from pleasure to delude, 
And join the gentle to the rude. 

For once, O Fortune, hear my prayer. 

And I absolve thy future care ; 

All other wishes I resign. 

Make but the dear Amanda mine. 

Thomso^t, 



Dear Chloe, while thus beyond measure 

You treat me with doubts and disdain, 
You rob all your youth of its pleasure. 

And hoard up an old age of pain : 
Your maxim, that love is still founded 

On charms that will quickly decay. 
You will find to be very ill grounded 

When once you its dictates obey. 

The passion from beauty first drawn 

Your kindness will vastly improve ; 
Soft looks and gay smiles are the dawn, 

Fruition's the sunshine of love : 
And tho' the bright beams of your eyes 

Should be clouded, that now are so gay^ 
And darkness obscure all the skies, 

^We ne'er can forget it was day. 
15* 



178 Ai^iATORY SONGS. 

Old Darby with Joan by his side 

You oft have regarded with wonder ; 
He is dropsical, she is sore-eyed, 

Yet they're ever uneasy asunder ; 
Tog-ether they totter about. 

And sit in the sun at the door. 
And at night when old Darby's pot '*s out 

His Joan will not smoke a whifF more. 

No beauty or wit they possess 

Their several failings to smother ; 
Then what are the charms, can you guess. 

That make them so fond of each other ? 
'Tis the pleasing remembrance of youth, 

The endearments tlutt love did bestow. 
The thoughts of past pleasure and truth. 

The best of all blessings below. 

These traces for ever will last 

Which sickness nor time can remove ;^ 
For when youth and beauty are past, 

And age brings the winter of love, 
A friendship insensibly grows 

By reviews of such raptures as these. 
And the current of fondness still flows 

Which decrepid old age cannot freeze.* 



* The picture of the faithful old couple in this song, 
and the beautiful moral drawn from it, have always been 
iustly a^ired. 



AMATQRY SONGS. 179^ 



Away, let nought to love displeasing", 
My Winifred A, move thy fear; 

Let nought delay the heavenly blessing. 
Nor squeamish pride, nor gloomy care. 

What tho' no grants of royal donors 
With pompous titles grace our blood. 

We'll shine in more substantial honours^ 
And to be noble we'll be good. 

What tho' from fortune's lavish bounty 
No mighty treasures we possess. 

We'll find within our pittance plenty, 
And be content without excess. 

S«till shall each kind returning season 

Sufficient for our wishes give. 
For we will live a life of reason. 

And that's the only life to live. 

Our name, while virtue thus we tender. 
Shall sweetly sound where'er 'tis spokC;, 

And all the great ones much shall wonder 
How they admire such little folk. 

Thro* youth and age in love excelling', 
We'll hand in hand together tread. 

Sweet smiling peace shall crown our dsvelling, 
And babes, sweet smiling babes, our bed. 



1 80 AMATORY- SONGS . 

How should I love the pretty creatures 
Whilst round my knees they fondly clung, 

To see them look their mother's (eatures, 
To hear them lisp their mother's tongue ! 

And when with envy time transported 
Shall think to rob us of our joys ; 

You'll in your girls again be courted. 
And I'll go wooing in my boys.* 

Gilbert Cooper. 



O Kancy, wilt thou go with me. 

Nor sigh to leave the flaunting town^ 
Can silent glens have charms for thee, 

The lowly cot and russet gown ? 
No longer drest in silken sheen. 

No longer deckt in jewels rare. 
Say canst thou quit each courtly scene. 

Where thou wert fairest of the fair ? 



* This pleasing delineation of conjugal and domestic 
felicity was first given by the author as ** from the ancient 
British.^^ Although this title was manifestly only a po- 
etic fiction, or rather a stroke of satire. Dr. Percy was 
strangely induced by it to insert the piece among his 
^' Reliques of Ancient Poetry.*' 



AMATORY SONGS. !8l 

Oh Nancy ! when thou'rt far away. 

Wilt thou not cast a wish behind ? 
Say canst thou face the parching* ray, 

Nor shrink before the wintry wind i 
O can that soft and g-entle mien 

Extremes of hardship learn to bear, 
Nor sad regret each courtly scene. 

Where thou wert fairest of the fair ? 

Oh Nancy ! canst thou love so true 

Throug-h perils keen with me to g"©. 
And, when thy swain mishap shall rue. 

To share *vith him the pang- of woe ? 
Say should disease or pain befall. 

Wilt thou assume the nurse's care. 
Nor wistful those g-ay scenes recall 

Where thou wert fairest of the fair ? 

And when at last thy love shall die. 

Wilt thou receive his parting" breath ? 
Wilt thou repress each struggling' sigh. 

And cheer with smiles the bed of death I 
And wilt thou o'er his breathless clay 

Strew flowers, and drop the tender tear ; 
Nor then regret those scenes so gay. 

Where thou wert fairest of the fair ? 

Percy 



182 AMATORY SONOS. 



In vain, fond youth, thy tears g-ive o'er ; 

What more, alas ! can Flavia do? 
Thy truth I own, thy fate deplore : 

All are not happy that are true. 



4 



Suppress those sighs, and weep no more ; 

Should heaven and earth with thee combine^ 
'Twere all in vain; since any pow'r. 

To crown thy love, must alter mine; 

But, if revenge can ease thy pain, 

I'll soothe the ills I cannot cure, 
Tell that I drag a hopeless chain. 

And all that I inflict, endure. 



The wretch O let me never know 
Who turns from Pity's tearful eye ; 

Who melts not at the dirge of woe, 
But bids the soul renew its sigh ! 

O say not, with the voice of scorn, 
The lilies of thy neck are fled. 

Thine eyes their vanish'd radiance mourn, 
The roses of thy cheek are dead. 



AMATORY SONGS. 183 

Too cruel youth ! with tears I own 

The rose and lily's sad decay; 
And sorrowing wish, for thee alone. 

Their transient bloom a longer day. 

Yet, tho' thine eyes no longer trace 
The healthful blush of former charms, 

Kemember that each luckless grace, 
O Colin, faded in thy arras. 

WOLCOTT. 



THE PARTING. 

Laura, thy sighs must now no more 

My faltering step detain. 
Nor dare 1 hang thy sorrows o*er. 

Nor clasp thee thus, in vain ; 
Yet while thy bosom heaves that sigh. 

While tears thy cheek bedew, 
Ah ! think — tho' doom'd from thee to fly. 

My heart speaks no adieu. 

Thee would I bid to check those sighs. 

If thine were heard alone; 
Thee would I bid to dry those eyes, 

But tears are in my own. 
One last, long kiss — and then we part— 

Another — and adieu 
I cannot aid thy breaking heart. 

For mine is breaking too. 

W, Smyth. 



AMATORY SONGS. 



Oh ! Henry, sure by every art 

I school my mind to bear its trial ; 
But moments come, when tears will start. 

And grief no longer brook denial: 
Not alwa) s can my heart achieve 

The parting task — to fly from sorrow. 
By reason's aid to cease to grieve, 

And trust the hope that gilds the morrow. 

I trust it now — my heart is gay, 

I feel the aid of calmer reason ; 
Oh ! come it will, the lingering day. 

When love and bliss shall have their season. 
The perils that my soldier try 

Sliall but the more his worth discover; 
And fame shall sound his praise on high. 

My hero brave— my life — my lover. 

My Henry shall with peace return. 

And war no more our hearts shall sever : 
And bright this happy hearth shall burn. 

And smiles and joys be ours for ever. 
Oh ! then how blest ! — no more to part. 

To share his bliss — his love — his glory ■ 
Live the proud partner of his heart, 

And tell our boys their father's story. 

W. Smyth. 



AMATORY SON«S. 



How brig-ht the sun's declining rays 

Glitter on yonder ivied spire ! 
How sweet the evening- zephyr plays 

Thro* those old trees that seem on fire ! 
Beneath those trees how oft I've stray'd 

With Mary, rapture in my eyes ! — 
But now, alas ! beneath their shade 

All that remains of Mary lies ! 

Oh ! can I e'er the scene forget ? 

'Twas such an evening — this the place, 
That first the lovely girl I met. 

And gazed upon her angel face. 
The west at Sol's departure blush'd, 

And brighten'd to a crimson hue ; 
Her cheek with kindred tints was flush'd^ 

And ah ! her sun was sinking too. 

She died — and at that very hour 

Hope broke her wand and Pleasure fled. 
Life is a charm, has lost its power, 

Th' enchantress of my days is dead. 
That sun — those scenes where oft I've stray'd 

Transported, I no longer prize ; 
I'or now, alas ! beneath their shade 

All that remains of Mary lies. 

J. CONDER. 

16 



^86 AMATORY SONG«. 



When gentle Celia first I knew, 
A breast so good, so kind, so true. 

Reason and taste approved ; 
Pleased to indulge so pure a flame, 
I call'd it by too soft a name. 

And fondly thought I loved. 

Till Chloris came, with sad surprise 
I felt the lightning of her eyes 

Thro' all my senses run ; 
All glowing with resistless charms. 
She fiU'd my breast with new alarms, 

I saw, and was undone. 

Celia ! dear unhappy maid. 
Forbear the weakness to upbraid 

Which ought your scorn to move : 

1 know this beauty false and vain, 
I know she triumphs in my pain. 

Yet still 1 feel I love. 

Thy gentle smiles no more can please, 
JJor can thy softest friendship ease 

The torments I endure; 
Think what that wounded breast must feel 
Which truth and kindness cannot heal, 

Nor e'en thy pity cure 



AMATORY SONGS. 1^7 

Oft shall I curse my iron chain. 
And wish again thy milder reig^ii 

With long" and vain regret ; 
All that I can, to thee I give, ' 

And could I still to reason live, 

I were thy captive yet. 

But passion's wild impetuous sea 
Hurries me far from peace and thee, 

'Twere vain to struggle more : 
Thus the poor sailor slumbering lies, 
"While sweLing tides around him rise. 

And push his bark from shore. 

In vain he spreads his helpless arms. 
His pitying friends with fond alarms 

In vain deplore his state ; 
Still far, and farther from the coast. 
On the high surge his bark is tost. 

And foundering yields to fate. 

Mrs. Uarbauld, 



If Love and Reason ne'er agree. 
And Virtue tremble at his power. 

May Heaven from Love pronounce me free, 
And guard me thro' each tender hour \ 

But if the pleasures Love bestows 
Are such as reason pleased allows. 

Are such as smiling Virtue knows. 
To Love I'll pay my virgin vows. 



^8S AMATORY SONGS. 

And such they are : for loose desires 
But ill deserve the tender name ; 

They blast, like lig'htning''s transient fires, 
But Love's a pure and constant flame. 

Love scorns a sordid selfish bliss, 

And only for its object lives ; 
Feels mutual truth endear the kiss. 

And tastes no joys but those it gives* 

Love's more than language can reveal. 

Or thought can reach — tho' thought is firee ; 

'Tis only felt— 'tis what I feel, 

And hope that Damon feels for me. 



When first upon your tender cheek 
I saw the morn of beauty break 

With mild and cheering beam, 
I bow'd before your infant shrine. 
The earliest sighs you had were mine. 

And you my darling theme. 

I saw you in that opening mom 

For beauty's boundless empire born. 

And first confess'd your sway ; 
And ere your thoughts, devoid of art. 
Could learn the value of a heart, 

I gave my heart away. 



AMATORY SONGS. 189 

I watch'd the dawn of every grace. 
And gazed upon that angel face. 

While yet 'twas safe to gaze ; 
And fondly bless'd each rising charm, 
Nor thought such innocence could harm 

The peace of future days. 

But now despotic o'er the plains 
The awful noon of beauty reigns, 

And kneeling crowds adore ; 
These charms arise too fiercely bright. 
Danger and death attend the sight, 

And I must hope no more. 

Thus to the rising God of day 
Their early vows the Persians pay. 

And bless the spreading fire ; 
Whose glowing chariot mounting soon 
Pours on their heads the burning noon ; 

They sicken and expire. 

Mrs. Barbauld,. 



There lives a lass upon the green, 

Could 1 her picture draw, 
A brighter nymph was never seen, 
She looks and reigns a little queen. 
And keeps the swains in awe. 
16* 



AMATORY SONGS. 

Her eyes are Cupid's darts and wings. 

Her eyebrows are his bow, 
Her silken hair the silver strings. 
Which swift and sure destruction brings 

To all the vale below. 

If Pastorella's dawn of light 

Can warm and wound us so. 
Her noon must be so piercing bright, 
Each glancing beam would kill outright. 
And every swain subdue. 



He that loves a rosy cheek. 

Or a coral lip admires, 
Or from star-like eyes doth seek 

Fuel to maintain his fires ; 
As old Time makes these decay, 
So his flames must waist away. 

But a smooth and steadfast mind. 
Gentle thoughts and calm desires, 

Hearts with equal love combined 
Kindle never-dying fires. 

Where these are not I despise 

Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes* 

Carew. 

* Carew, though infected v ith the bad taste of his age, 
and in genera! overrun with artificial thoughts and con- 
ceits, has written some pieces of great sweetness and ele- 
gant simplicity ; of which this is a very pleasing example. 



AMATORY SONGS. 191 



Still to be neat, still to be drest, 

As you were going to a feast ; 

Still to be powder'd, still perfuniedj 

Lady, it is to be presumed, 

Tho' art's hid causes are not found. 

All is not sweet, all is not sound. 

Give me a look, give me a face 

That makes simplicity a grace ^ 

Robes loosely flowing, hair as free : 

Such sweet neglect more taketh me 

Than all th' adulteries of art ; 

They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.* 

B. JONSON. 



Why so pale and wan, fond lover t 

Pr'ythee, why so pale ? 
Will, when looking well can't move her. 

Looking ill prevail ? 

Pr'ythee, why so pale ? 



'^ This is one of a very few proiluctions of the once 
celebrated autlior, which by their singular elegance and 
neatness, form a striking contrast to the prevalent coarse 
ness and quaintness of his tedious effusions. 



192 AATATORY SONG8. 

Why so dull and mute, young* sinner i 

Pr'ythee, why so mute ? 
Will, when speaking well can't win her. 

Speaking nothing do 't ? * 

Pr'ythee, why so mute ?* 

Suckling* 



Whence comes my love ? O heart ! disclose : 
'Twas from cheeks that shame the rose ; 
From lips that spoil the ruby's praise. 
From eyes that mock the diamond's blaze. 
Whence comes my w^oe, as freely own : 
All me ! 'twas from a heart like stone. 

The blushing cheek speaks modest mind ; 
The lips befitting words most kind ; 
The eye doth tempt to love's desire, 
And seems to say, 'Tis Gupid's fire : 
Yet all so fair but speak my moan, 
Since nought doth say the heart of stone. 

Why thus, my love, so kind bespeak 
Sweet lip, sweet eye, sweet blushing cheek. 
Yet not a heart to save my pain ? 
O Venus ! take thy gifts again : 



* The third stanza of this sprightly song is omitted, mt 
^^ecouTjt of it^ inferiority and coarseness. 



AMATORY SONGS. 19S 

Make not so fair to cause our moan, 
Or make a heart that's like our own.* 

Sir J. Harringtok. 



The Graces and the wandering Loves 

Are fled to distant plains, 
To chase the fawns, or in deep groves 

To wound admiring- swains. 
With their bright mistress there they stray, 

Who turns her careless eyes 
From daily triumphs ; yet, each day. 
Beholds new triumphs in her way. 

And conquers while she flies. 

But see ! implored by moving prayers. 

To change the lover's pain, 
Venus her harness'd doves prepares. 

And brings the fair again . 
Proud mortals, who this maid pursue. 

Think you, she'll e'er resign ? 
Cease, fools, your wishes to renew 
Till she grows flesh and blood, like you ; 

Or you, like her, divine. 

* This piece, the product of the ag*e of Elizabeth or 
James I, has uiulergone no other alteration in reprinting, 
than putting it into modern spelling. It is a specimen 
of the elegant simplicity which characterized that age 
of Enr'^lish poetry, and which was nearly lost in the suc- 
ceeding age. 



I 



194 AMATORY SONGS. 



Round Love's elysian bowers 

The softest prospects rise ; 
There bloom the sweetest flowers. 

There shine the purest skies ; 
And joy and rapture gild awhile 
The cloudless heaven of Beauty's smile. 

Round Love's deserted bowers 

Tremendous rocks arise ; 
Cold mildews blight the flowers. 

Tornadoes rend the skies : 
And Pleasure's waning moon goes down 
Amid the night of Beauty's frown. 



Then, youth, thou fond believer. 

The wily Syren shun ; 
Who trusts the dear deceiver 

Will surely be undone : 
When Beauty triumphs, ah ! beware : 
Her smile is hope — her frown despair. 

Montgomery. 



TO CUPID. 

Child, with many a childish wile, 
Timid look, and blushing smile. 
Downy wings to steal thy way. 
Gilded bow, and quiver gay. 



AMATORY SONGS. 195 

Who in thy simple mien would trace 
The tyrant of the human race ? 

Who is he whose flinty heart 
Hath not felt the flying* dart ? 
Who is he that from the wound 
Hath not pain and pleasure found ? 
Who is he that hath not shed 
Curse and blessing* on thy head ?* 

Joanna Baillie, 



A SIGH. 

Gentle air, thou breath of lovers. 

Vapour from a secret fire, 
Which by thee itself discovers. 

Ere yet daring to aspire : 

Softest note of whisper'd ang'uish, 

Harmony's refined part. 
Striking, while thou seem'st to languish. 

Full upon the listener's heart : 

Safest messenger of passion. 
Stealing thro' a cloud of spies, 

Which constrain the outward fashion, 
Close the lips, and^guard the eyes : 

* In the tragedy of " Basil." 



196 AMATORY SONGS. 

Shapeless sig-h, we ne'er can show thee, 
Form'd but to assault the ear ; 

Yet ere to their cost ihey know thee. 
Every nymph may read thee here. 



Love arms himself in Celiacs eyes 
Whene'er weak Reason would rebel j 

And every time I dare be wise, 
Alas ! a deeper wound I feel. 

Repeated thoughts present the ill 
Which seeing" I must still endure ; 

They tell me Love has darts to kill, 
And Wisdom has no power to cure. 

Then, cruel Reason, g-ive me rest. 
Quit in my heart thy feeble hold ; 

Go try thy force in Celia's breast, 
For that is diseng-ag-ed and cold. 

There all thy nicest arts employ ; 

Confess thyself her beauty's slave? 
And argue, whilst she may destroy. 

How great, how godlike 'tis to save. 



AMATOKY SONGS. 197 



VouNG I am, and yet unskill'd 
How to make a lover yield ; 
How to keep, and how to gain. 
When to love, and when to feign. 

Take me, take me, some of you. 
While I yet am young and true ; 
Ere I can my soul disguise. 
Heave my breasts, and roll my eyes. 

Stay not till I learn the way 
How to lie and to betray ; 
He that has me first is blest, 
For I may deceive the rest. 

Could I find a blooming youth 
Full of love and full of truth. 
Brisk and of ajanty mien, 
I should long to be fifteen. 



Say not, Olinda, I despise 
The faded glories of your face. 

The languish*d vigour of your eyes, 
And that once only -loved embrace, 
17 



198 , AMATORY SONGS. 

In vain, in vain, my constant heart. 
On aged wings, attempts to meet. 

With wonted speed, those flames you dart. 
It faints and flutters at your feet. 

I blame not your decay of power. 
You may have pointed beauties still> 

Tho' me, alas ! they wound no more ; 
You cannot hurt what cannot feel. 

On youthful climes your beams display. 
There you may cherish with your heat, 

And rise the sun to gild their day. 
To me, benighted, when you set. 



O Nymph ! of Fortune*s smiles beware, 
Nor heed the syren's flattering tongue ; 

She lures thee to the haunts of care. 
Where sorrow pours a ceaseless song. 

Ah ! what are all her piles of gold ? 

Can those the hosts of care control ? 
The splendour which thine eyes behold 

Is not the sunshine of the soul. 

To Love alone thy homage pay. 
The queen of every true delight : 

Her smiles with joy shall gild thy day. 
And bless the visions of the night. 

WOLCOTT. 



AMATORY SONGS. 19^ 



Why, lovely charmer, tell me wh}'. 
So very kind, s© very shy ? 
Why does that cold forbidding" air 
Give damps of sorrow and despair ? 
Or why that smile my soul subdue. 
And kindle up my flames anew ? 

In vain you strive witi all your art 
By turns to freeze and fire my heart : 
When I behold a face so fair. 
So sweet a look, so soft an air. 
My ravish'd soul is charm'd all o'er, 
I cannot love thee less, nor more. 



Ye virgin powers, defend my heart 

From amorous looks and smiles ; 
From saucy love, or nicer art. 

Which most our sex beguiles ; 
From sighs and vows, from awful fears 

That do to pity move ; 
From speaking silence, and from tears. 

Those springs that water love. 

But if thro' passion I grow blind. 

Let honour be my guide ; 
And where frail nature seems inellncci, 

There place a guard of pride. 



200 AMATORY SONGS. 

A heart whose flames are seen, tho* pure. 

Needs every virtue's aid ; 
And she who thinks herself secure, 

The soonest is betray'd 



I 



SxREPHONhas fashion, wit and youth. 

With all thing's else that please ; 
He nothing" wants but love and truth 

To ruin me with ease : 
But he is flint, and bears the art 

To kindle strong* desire ; 
His power inflames another's heart. 

Yet he ne'er feels the fire. 

O ! how it does my soul perplex, 

When T his charms recall, 
To think he should despise the sex, 

Or, worse, should love them all ! 
My wearied heart, like Noah's dove. 

Thus seeks in vain for rest ; 
Finding no hope to fix its love. 

Returns into my breast. 

Mrs. Taylor. 



AMATORY SONGS. 201 



When clouds that angel face deform. 
Anxious I view the coming storm : 
When angry lightnings arm thine eye, 
And tell the gathering tempest nigh, 
I curse the sex, and bid adieu 
To female friendship, love, and you. 

But when soft passions rule your breast, 
And each kind look some love has drest ; 
When cloudless smiles around you play. 
And give the world a holiday ; 
1 bless the hour when first I knew 
Dear female friendship, love, and you. 

Theoph. Swift. 



Cupid, forbear thy childish arts ; 

I cannot, will not love ; 
Thy quiver emptied of its darts 

On me would harmless prove. 

In vain, fond boy, Miranda's eyes 
You point with beamy fire ; 

Strephon each killing glance defies, 
And looks without desire. 
17* 



AMATOKY SON6S. 

Thy Chloe's dimpled cheeks adorn 

With g-ay bewitching" smiles ; 
I laugh at all her wanton scorn. 

And triumph o'er her wiles. 

The snowy neck, the slender waist. 

The gently-bending brow. 
The ruby lip with moisture graced, 

I view without a vow» 

Should thy bright mother, beauty's queen, 

Court me with open arms, 
Adonis-like would I be seen 

To slight her proffered charms. 

This bold defiance Stre.phon sends ; 

Hence, baffled boy, remove : 
We are not foes, we are not friends : 

I cannot, will not love. 



Fickle bliss, fantastic treasure. 
Love, how soon thy joys are past! 

Since we soon must lose the pleasure. 
Oh, 'twere better ne'er to taste ! 

Gods ! how sweet would be possessing, 
Did not time its charms destroy ; 

Or could lovers with the blessing 
Lose the thought of Gupid's joy ! 



AMATORY SONGS. 20S 

Gruel thoughts, that pain yet please me, 

Ah, no more my rest destroy ! 
Show me still, if you would ease me. 

Love's deceits, but not its joy. 

Gods ! what kind yet cruel powers 
Force my will, to rack my mind ! 

Ah ! too long" we wait for flowers 
Too, too soon to fade design'd. 



On Belvidera*s bosom lying. 
Wishing, panting, sighing, dying ; 
The cold regardless maid to move 

With unavailing prayers I sue ; 
You first have taught me how to love. 

Ah ! teach me to be happy too. 

But she, alas ! unkindly wise. 
To all my sighs and tears replies, 
** Tis every prudent maid's concern 

Her lover's fondness to improve ; 
If to be happy you should learn. 

You quickly would forget to love." 

A. Phillips. 



AMATORY SONGS. 



Boast not, mistaken swain, thy art. 

To please my partial eyes ; 
The charms tliat have subdued my heart 

Another may despise. 

Thy face is to my humour made, 

Another it may fright ; 
Perhaps, by some fond whim betray'd, 

In oddness 1 delight. 

Vain youth, to your confusion, know 

'Tis to my love's excess 
You all your fancied beauties owe. 

Which fade as that grows less. 

For your own sake, if not for mine. 

You should preserve my fire. 
Since you, my swain, no more will shine 

When I no more admire. 

By me indeed you are allow'd 

The wonder of your kind ; 
But be not of my judgment proud, 

AVhom love has render'd blind. 

A. Phillips. 



AMATORY SONGS. 205 



My love was fickle once and chang'ing'. 
Nor e'er would settle in my heart. 

From beauty still to beauty ranging. 
In every face I found a dart. 

'Twas first a charming shape enslaved me, 
An eye then gave the fatal stroke ; 

Till by her wit Corinna saved me. 
And all my former fetters broke. 

But now a long and lasting anguish 

For Belvidera T endure; 
Hourly 1 sigh, and hourly languish. 

Nor hope to find the wonted cure 

For here the false inconstant lover. 
After a thousand beauties shown. 

Does new surprising charms discover. 
And finds variety in one.* 



While silently I loved, nor dared 

To tell my crime aloud, 
The influence of your smiles I shared 

In common with the crowd. 

* This songis given in one of Addison's Spectators (No. 
470,) as the subject of a humorous coniiuentar) iu ridi- 
cule of the verbal critics. Its author is not mentioned. 



206 AMATORY SONGS. 

But when I once my flame exprest, 
In hopes to ease my pain, 

You singled me from out the rest. 
The mark of your disdain. 

If thus, GoRiNNA, you shall frown 

On all that do adore. 
Then all mankind must be undone, 

Or vou must smile no more. 



Shall I, wasting in despair. 
Die because a woman's fair ? 
Or make pale my cheeks with care, 
'Cause another's rosy are ? 
Be she fairer than the day. 
Or the flowery meads in May, 
If she be not so to me. 
What care i how fair she be ! 

Should my heart be grieved or pined 
'Cause I see a woman kind ? 
Or a well disposed nature 
Joined with a lovely feature ? 
Be she meeker, kinder, than 
Turtle-dove or pelican. 
If she be not so to me. 
What care I how kind she be ! 

Shall a woman's virtues move 
Me to perish for her love ? 



AMATORY SONGS. 207' 

Or, her well-deservings known, 
Make me quite forget my own ? 
Be she with that goodness blest 
Which may gain her name of Best, 

If she be not such to me. 

What care 1 how good she be ! 

*Cause her fortune seems too high. 

Shall I play the fool and die ? 

Those that bear a noble mind. 

Where they want of riches find. 

Think what with them they would do 

That without them dare to woo ; 
And, unless that mind I see, 
What care I though great she be !, 

Great, or good, or kind, or fair, 

I will ne'er the more despair : 

If she'love me, this believe, 

I will die ere she shall grieve : 

If she slight me when I woo, 

I can scorn and let her go : 
For, if she be not for me, 
What care I for whom she be ?* 

G. Wither. 

* A dull and tedious writer on grave subjects will some- 
times sport happily with a lighter topic. This was the 
case with Wither, a poet of the earlier part of the 17th 
century, who after writing some pleasing juvenile pieces, 
became almost proverbial for dull ])rolixity. 



208 AMATORY SONGS. 



I DO confess thou'rt smooth and fair, 

And I might have been brought to love thee j 

But that I found the slightest prayer 

That breai h could make, had power to move thee ; 

But I can leave thee now alone. 

As worthy to ble loved by none. 



I do confess thou'rt sweet, but find 
Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets. 
Thy favours are but like the wind 
That kisseth every thing it meets. 
Then, since thou canst with more than one, 
Thou'rt worthy to be kiss'd by none. 

The virgin rose, that untouch'd stands, 
Arm'd with its briars, how sweet it smells ! 
But pluckt and strain'd thro' ruder hands. 
Its sweet no longer with it dwells ; 
But scent and beauty both are gone. 
And leaves drop from it one by one. 

Such fate, ere long, will thee betide. 
When thou hast handled been a while, 
With sear-flow'rs to be thrown aside ; 
And I shall sigh, while some will smile. 
To see thy love for every one 
Hath brought thee to be loved by none. 



I 



AMATORY SONGS. 20^ 



Not, Celia, that I juster am 

Or truer than the rest : 
For I would chang-e each hour like them, 

Were it my interest. 

But Tm so fixt alone to thee 

By every thought I have. 
That should you now my heart set free, 

'T would be again your slave. 

AH that in woman is adored 

In thy dear self I find ; 
For the whole sex can but afford 

The handsome, and the kind. 

Not to my virtue, but thy power. 

This constancy is due ; 
When chang-e itself can give no more 

'Tis easy to be true. 

Sedley. 



It is not, Celia, in our power 

To say how long* our love will last ; 

It may be we within this hour 

May lose the joys we nov/ do taste : 

The blessed that immortal be 

From change of love are only free. 
18 



210 AMATORY S0^'G3. 

Then since we mortal lovers are. 

Ask not how long our love will last ; 
But while it does, let us take care 

Each minute be with pleasure past : 
Were it not madness to deny- 
To live, because we're sure to die ? 

Etheriboe. 

Say, Myra, why is gentle love 

A stranger to that mind 
Which pity and esteem can move. 

Which can be just and kind ? 

Is it because you fear to share 

The ills that love molest. 
The jealous doubt, the tender care. 

That rack the amorous breast ? 

Alas ! by some degree of woe 

We every bliss must gain : 
The heart can ne'er a transport know. 

That never feels a pain. 

Lyttelton. 

Awake, awake, my lyre ! 
And tell thy silent master's humble tale 
In sounds that may prevail ; 
Sounds that gentle thoughts inspire : 
Though so exalted she, 
And I so lowly be. 
Tell her such different notes make all thv harmonv. 



AMATORY SONGS. 211 

Hark ! how the strhigs awake : 
And though the moving hand approach not near. 
Themselves with awful fear 
A kmd of numerous trembling make. 
Now all thy forces try, 
Now all thy charms apply. 
Revenge upon her ear the conquests of her eye. 

Weak lyre ! thy virtue sure 
Is useless here, since thou art only found 
To cure but not to wound. 
And she to wound, but not to cure. 
Too weak too thou wilt prove 
My passion to remove : 
Physic to other ills, thou'rt nourishment to love. 

Sleep, sleep again, my lyre ! 
For thou canst never tell my humble tale 
In sounds that will prevail. 
Nor gentle thoughts in her inspire : 
All thy vain mirth lay by, 
Bid thy strings silent lie. 
Sleep, sleep again, my lyre, and let thy master die.* 

Cowley, 

* This song or ode is given in the *'Davideis" as ad- 
dressed by David to Saul's daughter, Michal. It is one 
of the proofs that Cowley, when not unhappily an imitator 
of Donne, and the rest of the metaphysical school, was 
capable of all the elegance and harmony properly belong- 
ing to lyrical poetry. 



AMATORY SONGS. 



TO MY LUTE. 



What shade and what stillness around ! 

Let us seek the loved cot of the fair ; 
There soften her sleep with thy sound. 

And banish each phantom of care. 

The virgin may wake to thy strain. 

And be sooth'd, nay, be pleased with thy song ; 
Alas ! she may pity the swain. 

And fancy his sorrows too long". 

Gould thy voice give a smile to her cheek. 
What a joy, what a rapture were mine ! 

Then forever thy fame would I speak — 
O my lute, what a triumph were mine \ 

Ah * whisper kind love in her ear. 

And sweetly my wishes impart ; 
Say, the swain who adores her is near, 

vSay, thy sounds are the si^hs of his heart. 

WOLCOTT. 



I pr'y thee send me back my hearC 

Since I cannot have thint ; 
For if from yours you will not part, 

Why then shouldst thou have mine ' 



AMATORY SONGS. 21^ 

Yet, now I think on't, let it lie. 

To find it were in vain ; 
For thou'st a thief in either eye 

Would steal it back ag-ain. 

Why should two hearts in one breast lie. 

And yet not lodge together ? 
O Love ! where is thy sympathy 

If thus our breasts thou sever ? 

But love is sucli a mystery, 

I cannot find it out ; 
For, when I think I'm best resolved. 

Then I am most in doubt. 

Then farewell, care, and farewell, woe ! 

I will no longer pine ; 
For 1*11 believe I have her heart 

As much as she has mine. 

Suckling. 



Whilst I fondly view the charmer, 

Thus the God of Love I sue : 
** Gentle Cupid, pray disarm her, 

Cupid, if you love me, do: 
Of a thousand smiles bereave her, 

Rob her neck, lier lips, her eyes ; 
The remainder still will leave her 

Power enough to tyrannize. 
18* 



214 AMATORY SONGS. 

** Shape and feature, fiaiiie and pasaion 

Still in every breast will move : 
More is supererog^ation. 

Mere idolatry of love : 
You may dress a world of Chloes 

In the beauty she can spare : 
Hear him, Cupid, who no foe is 

To your altars or the fair." 

"Foolish mortal, pray be easy;" 

Angry Cupid made reply : 
. " Do Florella's charms displease ye i 

Die then, foolish mortal ! die. 
Fancy not that I'll deprive her 

Of the captivating" store : 
Shepherd, no, I'll rather give her 

Twenty thousand beauties more. 

"Were Florella proud and sour. 

Apt to mock a lover's care. 
Justly then you'd pray that power 

Should be taken from the fair : 
But though I spread a blemish o'er her, 

No relief in that you'll find : 
Still, fond Shepherd, you'd adore her 

For the beauties of the mind." 



AMATORY SONGS. 215 



While Strep ho n in his pride of youth 

To me alone profest 
Dissembled passion drest like truth. 

He triumph 'd in my breast. 

I lodged him near my yielding heart. 

Denied him not my arms. 
Deluded by his pleasing art. 

Transported with his charms. 

The wanderer now I lose, or share 

With every lovely maid : — 
Who makes the heart of man her care 

Shall have her own betray'd. 

Our charms on them we vainly prove. 
And think we conquest gain : 

Where one a victim falls to love, 
A thousand tyrants reign. 



<* Woman, thoughtless, giddy creature. 
Laughing, idle, fluttering thing, 

Most fantastic work of Nature, 
Still, like fancy, on the wing ; 



216 AMATORY SONGS. 

" Slave to every chang-jng passion. 

Loving", hating" in extreme. 
Fond of every foolish passion. 

And, at best, a pleasing dream ; 

" Lovely trifle, dear illusion, 

Conquering weakness, vvisht-for pain, 
Man's chief glory, and confusion. 

Of all vanity most vain!" 

Thus, deriding beauty's power, 
Bevil caird it all a cheat; 

But in less than half an hour 

Kneel'dand whined at Celia's feel. 



A WRETCH long tortured with disdain. 

That hourly pined, but pined in vain. 
At length the God of Wine addrest. 
The refuge of a wounded breast. 

" Vouchsafe, O Power, thy healing aid, 
Teach me to gain tlie cruel maid ; 
Thy juices take the lover's part, 
Flush his wan looks, and cheer his heart." 

Thus to the jolly god he cried. 
And thus the jolly god replied : 
** Give whining o'er, be brisk and gay. 
And quaff this sneaking form away. 



AMATORY SONGS. 217 

** With dauntless mien approach the fair ; 
The way to conquer is to dare." 
The swain pursued the god*s advice : 
The nymph was now no long-er nice. 

She smiled and spoke her sex's mind : 
" When you grow daring*, we grow kind : 
Men to themselves are most severe, 
And make us tyrants by their fear." 



Gynthia frowns whene'er I woo her. 
Yet she's vex't if I give over ; 

Much she fears I should undo her. 
But much more to lose her lover : 

Thus in doubting she refuses. 

And not winning thus she loses. 

Pr'ythee, Cynthia, look behind you, 
Age and wrinkles will o'ertake you. 

Then too late desire will find you 
When the power does forsake you. 

Think, oh ! think, the sad condition 

To be past, yet wish fruition. 

CONGREVE. 



Love's but the frailty of the mind 
When 'tis not with ambition join'd ; 
A sickly flame, which if not fed expires. 
And, feeding, wastes in self-consuming fires. 



218 AMATORY SONGS. 

*Tis not to wound a wanton boy. 
Or amorous youth, ihat gives the joy; 
But 'tis the glory to have pierced a swain 
For whom inferior beauties sigh'd in vain. 

Then I alone the conquest prize, 

When I insult a rival's eyes ; 
If there's deligh^ in love, 'tis when I see 
The heart which others bleed for, bleed for me. 

CONGREVE. 



Fair Amoret is gone astray. 

Pursue and seek her, every lover ; 

I'll tell the signs by which you may 
The wandering shepherdess discover. 

Coquet and coy at once her air. 

Both studied, tho' botli seem neglected. 

Careless she is with artful care. 
Affecting to seem uiiati'ected. 

With skill her eyes dart every glance. 

Yet change so soon you'd ne'er suspect 'cm ; 

For she'd persuade they wound by chance, 
Tho certain aim and art direct 'em. 

She likes herself, yet others hates 
For that which in herself she prizes ; 

And, while she laughs at them, forgets 
She is the thing that she despises. 

CONGREVE 



AMATORY SONGS. 219 

Give me more love, or more disdain ; 

The torrid or the frozen zone 
Brings equal ease unto my pain ; 

The temperate affords me none : 
Either extreme of love or hate 
Is sweeter than a calm estate. 

Give me a storm : if it be love. 
Like Danae in her golden shower 

1 swim in pleasure ; if it prove 
Disdain, that torrent will devour 

My vulture hopes and he*s possest 

Of heaven that's but from hell released. 

Then crown my joys, or cure my pain ; 
Give me more love, or more disdain. 

Carew, 



In Chloris all soft charms agree, 

Inchanting humour, powerful wit. 
Beauty from affectation free. 

And for eternal empire fit. 
Where'er she goes love waits her eyes. 

The women envy, men adore ; 
Tho', did she less the triumph prize. 

She would deserve the conquest more. 

But vanity so much prevails. 

She begs what none else would deny her. 
Makes such advances with her eyes. 

The hope she gives prevents desire ; 



220 AMATORY SONGS. 

Catches at every trifling heart. 

Grows warm with every glimm'ring flame ; 
The common prey so deads her dart. 

It scarce can pierce a noble game. 

I could lie ages at her feet. 

Adore her careless of my pain, 
With tender vows her rigours meet, 

Despair, love on, and not complain ; 
My passion, from all change secure. 

No favours raise, no frown controls ; 
I any torment can endure 

But hoping with a crowd of fools, 

John Howe- 



LovE still has something of the sea 
From whence his mother rose ; 

No time his slaves from doubt can free. 
Nor give their thoughts repose. 

They are becalm'd in clearest days. 
And in rough weather tost ; 

They wither under cold delays. 
Or are in tempests lost. 

One while they seem to touch the port, 
Then straight into the main 

Some angry wind, in cruel sport, 
The vessel drives again. 



AMATORY SONGS. 221 

At first, disdain and pride they fear ; 

Which if they chance to 'scape. 
Rivals and falsehood soon appear 

In a more dreadful shape. 

By such degrees to joy they come. 

And are so long withstood. 
So slowly they receive the sum, ^ 

It hardly does them good. 

'Tis cruel to prolong a pain ; 

And to defer a joy. 
Believe me, gentle Celimene, 

Offends the winged boy. 

A hundred thousand oaths your fears 

Perhaps would not remove ; 
And if I gazed a thousand years 

I could no deeper love. 

Sedley. 



DoRiNDA*s sparkling wit and eyes 
Uniting cast too fierce a light, 

Which blazes high, but quickly dies. 
Pains not the heart, but hurts the sight. 

Love is a calmer, gentle joy, 

Smooth are his looks, and soft his pace : 
Her Cupid is a black-guard boy, 

That runs his link full in your face. 
19 



222 AMATORY SONGS. 



Yes, Fulvia is like Venus, fair. 
Has all her bloom and shape and air ; 
But still, to perfect every grace. 
She wants— the smile upon her face. 

The crown majestic Juno w^ore. 
And Cynthia's brow the crescent bore, 
A helmet mark'd Minerva's mien ; 
But smiles disting-uish'd beauty's queen. 

Her train was form'd of smiles and loves. 
Her chariot drawn by gentlest doves, 
And from her zone the nymph may find 
'Tis beauty's province to be kind. 



Then smile, my fair ; and all whose aim 
Aspires to paint the Cyprian dame. 
Or bid her breathe in living" stone. 
Shall take their forms from you alone. 

Shenstone. 



Tease me no more, nor think I care 
Tho' monarchs bow at Kitty's shrine. 

Or povvder'd coxcombs woo the fair. 
Since Kitty is no longer mine. 



i 



AMATORY SONGS. i*i, 

Indifferent 'tis alike to me. 

If my favourite dove be stole. 
Whether its dainty feathers be 

Plucked by the eagle or the owL 

If not Tor me its blushing* lips 

The rose-bud opens, what care I 
Who the odorous liquid sips, 

The king of bees, or butterfly ? 

Like me, the Indians of Peru, 
Rich in mines of golden ore. 

Dejected see the merchant's crew- 
Transport it to a foreign shore. 

Seeks the slave despoiPd to know 
Whether his gold, in shape of lace. 

Shine on the coat of birth-day beau. 
Or wear the stamp of George's face ? 

Dr. Glynn, 



I TELL thee. Charm ION, could I time retrieve. 
And could again begin to love and live. 
To you I should my earliest oflbring give ; 
I know my eyes would lead my heart to you. 
And I should all my oaths and vows renew : 
But, to be plain, 1 never would be true. 

For by onr weak and weary truth, I find, 
Love hates to centre in a point assigned. 



224 AMATORY SONGS. 

But runs witli joy the circle of the mind : 
Then let us never chain what should be free, 
But for relief of either sex agree ; 
Since women love to change, and so do we. 

CONGREVE. 



CoBiNNA in the bloom of youth 

Was coy to every lover ; 
Regardless of the tenderest truth. 

No soft complaint could move her. 

Mankind was hers, all at her feet 

Lay prostrate and adoring ; 
The witty, handsome, rich, and great, 

In vain alike imploring. 

But now grown old, she would repair 

Her loss of time and pleaeure. 
With willing eyes and wanton air 

Inviting every gazer. 

But love's a summer flower, that dies 
With the first weather's changing; 

The lover, like the swallow, flies 
From sun to sun still ranging. 

Myra, let this example move 

Your foolish heart to reason ; 
Youth is the proper time for love. 

And age retirement's season. 

Lansdown. 



AMATORY SONGS. 225 



What ! put ofFwith one denial, 
And not make a second trial ? 
You might see my eyes consenting, 
All about me was relenting* ; 
Women obliged to dwell in forms 
Forgive the youth that boldly storms. 

Lovers, when you sigh and languish. 
When you tell us of your anguish, 
To the nymph you'll be more pleasing 
When those sorrows you are easing : 
We love to try how far men dare. 
And never wish the foe should spare. 



Let not Love on me bestow 
Soft distress and tender woe ; 
I know none but substantial blisses, 
Eager glances, solid kisses. 

I know not what the lovers feign 
Of finer pleasure mixt with pain ; 
Then pr'ythee give me, gentle boy. 
None of thy grief, but all thy joy. 

Steele. 
19* 



226 AMATORY SONGS. 



Why we love, and why we hate, 
Is not granted us to know ; 
' Random chance, or wilful fate. 

Guides the shaft from Cupid's bow. 

If on me Zelinda frown. 

Madness 'tis all in me to grieve ; 

Since her will is not her own. 
Why should I uneasy live ? 

If I for Zelinda die. 

Deaf to poor Micella's cries. 
Ask not me the reason why ; 

Seek the riddle in the skies. 



Phillips. 



Dear Colin, prevent my warm blushes, 
Since how can I speak without pain ? 

My eyes have oft told you my wishes. 
Oh ! can't you their meaning' explain ? 

My passion would lose by expression. 
And you too might cruelly blame ; 

Tlien don't you expect a confession 
Of what is too tender to name. 



AMATORY SONGS. 227 

Since yours is the province of speaking, 
Why should you expect it from me ? 

Our wishes should be in our keeping*. 
Till you tell us what they should be. 

Then quickly why don't you discover ? 

Did your heart feel such tortures as mine. 
Eyes need not tell over and over 

What I in my bosom confine. 



THE ANSWER. 

Good Madam, when ladies are willing, 
A man must needs look like a fool ; 

For me, I would not give a shilling 
For one that can love without rule. 

At least you should wait for our offers. 
Nor snatch like old maids in despair ; 

If you've lived to these years without proffers. 
Your sighs are now lost in the air. 

You should leave us to guess at your blushing, 
And not speak the matter too plain ; 

'Tis ours to be forward and pushing ; 
'Tis yours to affect a disdain. 



228 AMATORY SONGS. 

That you're in a terrible taking-, 

From all your fond og-ling-s I see ; 
But tbt fruit tliat will fall without shaking 

Indeed is too mellow for me.* 

Lady M. W. Montagu. 



4 



When first I soug'ht fair C^elia's love. 

And every charm was new, 
I swore by all the Gods above 

To be for ever true. ' 

But long in vain did I adore, 
Long wept and sigh'd in vain ; 

She still protested, vow'd, and swore 
She ne'er would ease my pain. 

At last o'ercome she made me blest, 
And yielded all her charms; 

And 1 forsook her %vhen possest. 
And fled to others' arms. 



* In Dodsley's Collection of Poems this pie«e was as- 
signed to Sir W. Young, and the preceding to Lady M. 
W. Montagu. Of this misstatement the lady heavily 
complains in a letter to her daughter, the Countess of 
Bute, in which she says that the first piece being hand- 
ed about as the supposed address of Lady Hertford to 
Lord W. Hamilton, she herself wrote the second extem- 
pore as a reply to it. 



AMATORY S0NC3^S. 229 

But let not this, dear C^lia, now 

To rage thy breast incline ; 
For why, since you forgot your vow, 

Should I remember mine ? 

SoAME Jenyns 



CoRiNNA cost me many a prayer. 

Ere I her heart could gain. 
But she ten thousand more should hear 

To take that heart again. 

Despair I thought the greatest curse ; 

But to my cost I find 
Corinna*s constancy still worse, 

Most cruel when too kind. 

How blindly then does Cupid carve, 

How ill divide the joy. 
Who does at first his lovers starve, 

And then with plenty cloy ! 



Take, oh take those lips away 
That so sweetly were fi^rsworn. 

And those eyes, the break of day. 
Lights that do mislead the morn ; 

But my kisses bring again, 

Seals of love, but seal'd in vain. 



230 AMATORY SONGS. 

Hide, oh hide those hills of snow 
Which thy frozen bosom bears. 

On whose tops the pinks that grow 
Are of those that April wears : 

But first set my poor heart free. 

Bound in those icy chains by thee.* 



Sexd home my long stray'd eyes to me. 
Which, oh ! too lon^j;- have dwelt on thee ! 
But if from thee they've learnt such ill. 

To sweetly smile 

And then beguile. 
Keep the deceivers, keep them still. 

Send home my harmless heart again. 
Winch no unworthy thought could stain ; 
But if it has been taught by thine 

To forfeit both 

Its word and oath. 
Keep it, for then 'tis none of mine. 

Yet send me back my heart and eyes, 
That 1 may know thy falsities, 

* This sweet and fanciful production of an early age 
was pr'^bably popular at its first appearance, as one stan- 
za of it is given in Shakespear's " Measure for Measure," 
and both in a piay of Beaumont and Fletcher's. It has 
commonly been attributed to Shakespear, but pix)bably 
erroneously. 



AMATORY SONGS. 231 

And laugh and joy one day, when thou 

Shalt grieve and mourn 

For one will scorn, 
And prove as false as thou dost now.* 

Donne C altered. J 



ON A LADY'S GIRDLE. 

That which her slender waist confined 
Shall now my joyful temples bind : 
No monarch but would give his crown 
His arms might do what this has done. 

It was my heav'n's extremest sphere, 
The pale which held that lovely deer j 
My joy, my grief, my hope, my love. 
Did all within this circle move. 

A narrow compass ! and yet there 
Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair ; 
Give me but what this riband bound. 
Take all the rest the sun goes round. 

Waller. 

* Donne is so rugged a versifier, tluit scarcely iwy of 
.his productions are reducible to regular measure without 
.some alteration. His language, also, is generally far from 
eelegant or refined, and his rhouglits are extremely strain- 
,ed and artificial. The preceding piece, however, has not 
-required much correclioa to cii title it lo a distinguished 
place among ingenious sf ngs. 



AMATORY SONGS^ 



Go, lovely Rose ! 
Tell her that wastes her time and me^ 

That now she knows, 
When I resen\ble her to thee. 
How fair and sweet she seems to be. 

Tell her that's young. 
And shuns to have her graces spired. 

That hadst thou sprung 
In deserts where no men abide. 
Thou mu&t have uncommended died. 

Small is the worth 
Of beauty from the light retired: 

Bid her come forth. 
Suffer herself to be desired. 
And not blush so to be admired. 

Then die ; that she 
The common fate of all things rare 

May read in thee ; 
How small a part of time they share. 
That are so wondrous sweet and fair ! 

Waller. 




AMATORY SONGS. 233 



Ir truth can fix thy wavering heart, 

Let Damon urge his claim ; 
He feels the passion void of art. 

The pure, the constant flame. 

Tho' sighing swains their torments tell, 

Their sensual love contemn ; 
They only prize the beauteous shell, 

But slight the inward gem. 

Possession cures the wounded heart. 

Destroys the transient fire ; 
But when the mind receives the dart. 

Enjoyment whets desire. 

By age your beauty will decay. 

Your mind improves with years ; 
As when the blossoms fade away, 

I'he ripening fruit appears. 

May Heaven and Sylvia grant my suit. 

And bless the future hour ; 
That Damon, who can taste the fruit. 

May gather every flower ! 

C^ARRICK. 



ro 



234 AMATORY SONGS. 



When fair Serena first I knew. 
By friendship's happy union charm'd. 

Incessant joys around her flew, 

And gentle smiles my bosom warm'd. 

But when, with fond officious care, 
I press'd to breathe my amorous pain. 

Her lips spoke nought but cold despair. 
Her eyes shot ice thro' every vein. 

Thus, in Italians lovely vales. 

The sun his genial vigour yields ; 

Reviving heat each sense regales. 
And plenty crowns the smiling fields. 

When nearer we approach his ray. 
High on the Alps' tremendous brow. 

Surprised, we see pale sun-beams play 
On everlasting hills of snow. 

T. Seward, M. A. 



All my past life is mine no more, 

The flying hours are gone ; 
Like transitory dreams given o'er. 
Whose images are kept in store 
By memory alone. 



AMATORY SONGS. 235 

The time that is to come, is not ; 

How then can it be mine ? 
The present moment 's all my lot. 
And that, as fast as it is got, 

Phyllis, is only thine. 

Then talk not of inconstancy, 

False hearts, and broken vowsi ; 

If I, by miracle, can be 

This live-long" minute true to thee, 
'Tis all that heaven allows. 

Rochester. 



Yes, I'm in love, I feel it now. 
And Gelia has undone me ; 

But yet I swear I can't tell how 
The pleasing plague stole on me. 

'Tis not her face that love creates. 
For there no Graces revel ; 

'Tis not her shape, for there the Fates 
Have rather been uncivil. 

'Tis not her air, for sure in that 
There's nothing more than common, 

And all her sense is only chat 
Like any other woman. 



236 AMATORY SONGS. 

Her voice, her touch might give the alarm, 
*Twas both, perhaps, or neither ; 

In short, 'twas that provoking charm 
Of Celia altogether. 

Whitehead. 



Ye little Loves, that round her wait 
To bring me tidings of my fate. 

As Celia on her pillow lies. 

Ah ! gently whisper, "Strephok dies !" 

If this will not her pity move. 

And the proud fair disdains to lore. 

Smile, and say, "'Tis all a lie. 
And haughty Strephon scorjis to die.*' 



Swain, thy hopeless passion smother. 
Perjured Celia loves another; 
In his arms I saw her lying, 
Panting, kissing, trembling', dying ; 
There the fair deceiver swore 
All she did to you before. 

" Oh !" said you, " when she deceives me. 
When that constant creature leaves me, 



AMATORY SONGS. 237 



Isis' waters back shall fly. 
And leave their oozy channels dry.' 
Turn, ye waters, leave your shore. 
Perjured Celia loves no naore.* 



Gup ID, instruct an amorous swain 
Some way to tell the nymph his pain 

To common youths unknown : 
To talk of sighs, and flames, and darts 
Of bleeding wounds and burning hearts, 

Are methods vulgar grown. 

"What need'st thou tell ?" (the god replied) 
** That love the shepherd cannot hide. 

The nymph will quickly find ; 
When Phoebus does his beams display. 
To tell men gravely that 'tis day. 

Is to suppose them blind." 

* The turn in this song is ingeniously copied out of Ovid's 
epistle from Oenone to Paris : 

Cum Paris Oenone poterit spirare relicta. 

Ad fontem Xanthi versa recurret aqua. 
Xanthe, retro propera, versajque recurrite lyraphse, 

Sustinet Oenone deseruisse Paris. 

Oenone left, when Paris can survive. 

The waves of Xanthus shall reverse their course. 

Turn, waters, turn, flow upward to your source, 
Oenone's left, yet Paris bears to live. 
20* 



238 AMATORY SONGS. 



Love 's a dream of mighty treasure, 

Which in fancy we possess ; 
In the folly lies the pleasure. 

Wisdom always makes it less. 

When we think, by passion heated. 

We a goddess have in chase, 
Like Ixion we are cheated. 

And a gaudy cloud embrace. 

Happy only is the lover 

Whom his mistress vv^ell deceives ; 
Seeking nothing to discover. 

He contented lives at ease ; 

While the wretch who would be knowing 
What the fair one would disguise. 

Labours for his own undoing. 
Changing happy to be wise. 



Chloe's the wonder of her sex, 
'Tis well her heart is tender ; 

How might such killing eyes perplex, 
With, virtue to defend her I 



AMATORY SONGS. 239 

But Nature, graciously inclined 
With liberal hand to please us. 

Has to her boundless beauty join'd 
A boundless bent to ease us. 

Lansdown. 

Pretty Parrot, say, when I was away. 
And in dull absence pass'd the day, 
What at home was doing" } 
" With chat and play 
All were gay, 
Night and day. 
Good cheer and mirth renewing ; 
Singing, laughing all, like pretty pretty Poll." 

Was no fop so rude, boldly to intrude. 
And like a saucy lover would 
Court and tease my lady ? 
** A thing, you know, 
Made for show, 
Call'd a beau. 
Near her was always ready ; 
Ever at her call, like pretty pretty Poll." 

Tell me with what air he approach'd the fair. 
And how she could with patience baar 
All he did and utter'd. 
" He still addressVl, 
Still caress'd 
Kiss'd and press*d. 
Sung, prattled, laugh'd and flatterM ; 
A'cU received in all, like pretty pretty Poll." 



240 AMATORY SONGS. 

Did he go away at the close of day. 
Or did he ever use to stay 
111 a corner dodging" ? 
"Thevvant of light. 
When 'twas night, 
Spoil'd my sight ; 
But I believe his lodging 
Was within her call, like pretty pretty Poll.'" 



Why will Delia thus retire. 
Languishing her life away ? 

While the sighing crowds admire, 
'Tis too soon for hartshorn tea. 

All these dismal looks and fretting 
Cannot Damon's life restore ; 

Long ago the worms have eat him, 
You can never see him more. 

Once again consult your toilet. 
In the glass your face review ; 

So much weeping sure will spoil it. 
And no spring your charms renew. 



*' This lively and singular piece was probably popular at 
the time of writing the «* Beggar's Opera," which has a 
song to the same measure. It certainly merits preservation. 



AMATORY SONGS. 241 

I, like you, was born a woman. 
Well I know what vapours mean ; 

The disease, alas ! is common ; 
Single, we have all the spleen. 

All the morals that they teach us 
Never cured a sorrow yet : 

Choose among the pretty fellows 
One of humour, youth and wit. 

Pr'ythee hear him every morning 
At the least an hour or two ; 

Once ag'ain at night returning, 
I believe the dose will do. 

Lady M. W. Montagu. 



O CLEAR that cruel doubting brow ; 

V\\ call on mighty Jove 
To witness this eternal vow ; 

'Tis you alone I love ! 

** O leave the god to soft repose," 
The smiling maid replies ; 

" For Jove but laughs at lovers' oaths, 
And lovers' perjuries." 

By honour'd Beauty's gentle pow'r ; 

By Friendship's holy flame ! 
*' Ah ! what is Beauty but a flow'r. 

And Friendship but a name ?" 



242 AMATORY SONGS. 

By those dear tempting lips ! I cried — 

With arch ambiguous look 
Convinced my Chloe glanced aside^ 

And bid me " Kiss the book." 

Bryan Edwards. 



When Orpheus went down to the regions below, 

Which men are forbidden to see. 
He tuned up his lyre, as old histories show. 

To set his Eurydice free. 

All hell was astonished a person so wise 

Should rashly endanger his life. 
And venture so far ; but how vast their surprise 

When they heard that he came for his wife ! 

To find out a punishment due for his fault 

Old Pluto long puzzled his brain ; 
But hell had not torments sufficient, he thought. 

So he gave him his wife back again. 

But pity succeeding soon vanquish'd his heart, 
And pleased with his playing so well. 

He took her again in reward of his art : 
Such merit had music in hell. 

Lisle. 



AMATORY SONGS. 24S 



Vain are the charms of white and red. 

Which paint the blooming fair ; 
Give me the nymph whose snow is spread 

Not o'er her face, but hair. 

Of smoother cheeks the winning grace 

With open force defies ; 
But in the wrinkles of her face 

Cupid in ambush lies. 

If naked eyes set hearts on blaze. 

And amorous warmth inspire ; 
Thro' glass who darts her pointed rays 

Lights up a fiercer fire. 

Nor rivals, nor the train of y^ars. 

My peace or bliss destroy ; 
Alive, she gives no jealous fears. 

And dead, she crowns my joy. 

PULTENEY, E. of Bath. 



Chloe brisk and gay appears. 

On purpose to invite ; 
Yet, when I press her, she, in tears, 

Denies her sole delight : 



244 AMATORY SONGS. 

While Celia, seeming shy and coy, 
To all her favours grants, 

And secretly receives that joy 
Which others think she wants. 

I would, but fear I never shall. 

With either fair agree ; 
For Celia will be kind to all, 

But Chloe won't to me. 



Oh ! turn away those cruel eyes. 

The stars of my undoing ; 
Or death in such a bright disguise 

May tempt a second wooing. 

Punish their blindly impious pride. 
Who dare contemn thy glory ; 

It was my fall that deified 

Thy name, and seal'd thy story. 

Yet no new sufferings can prepare 
A higher praise to crown thee ; 

Tho' my first death proclaim thee fair, 
My second will dethrone thee. 

Lovers will doubt thou canst entice 

No other for thy fuel. 
And, if thou burn one victim twice. 

Think thee both poor and cruel. 



AMATORY SONGS. 245 



The merchant to secure his treasure 
Conveys it in a borrovv'd name ; 

EuPHELiA serves to grace my measure 
But Chloe is my real flame. 

My softest verse, my darling lyre 

Upon Euphelia's toilet lay, 
When Chloe noted her desire 

That I should sing", that I should play. 

My lyre I tune, my voice I raise. 

But with my numbers mix my sighs ; 

And whilst I sing" Etjphelia's praise, 
I fix my soul on Chloe's eyes. 

Fair Chloe blush'd ; Euphelia frown'd ; 

I sung and gazed, I play'd and trembled ; 
And Venus to the Loves around 

Remark'd how ill we all dissembled. 

Prior 



(^iELiA, hoard thy charms no more. 
Beauty's like the miser's treasure ; 

Still the vain possessor's poor, 
What are riches without pleasure ? 
21 



246 AMATORY SONGS. 

Endless pains the miser takes 
To increase his heaps of money. 

Laboring" bees his pattern makes. 
Yet he fears to taste his honey ; 

Views with aching eyes his store. 

Trembling" lest he chance to lose it. 
Pining" still for want of more, 

Tho' the wretch wants power to use it. 
Celia thus with endless arts 

Spends her days, her charms improving, 
Lab'ring" still to conquer hearts. 

Yet ne'er tastes the sweets of loving ; 

Views with pride her shape and face. 

Fancying still she's under twenty ; 
Age brings wrinkles on apace. 

While she starves with all her plenty. 
Soon or late they both will find 

Time their idol from them sever; 
He must leave his gold behind, 

Lock'd within his grave for ever/^ 

Celia's fate will still be worse. 

When her fading charms deceive her. 
Vain desire will be her curse 

When no mortal will relieve her. 
Celia, hoard thy charms no more. 

Beauty's like the miser's treasure j 
Taste a little of thy store ; 

What is beauty without pleasure • 



AMATORY SONGS. 247 



As the snow in valleys lying", 
Phoebus his warm beams applying. 

Soon dissolves and runs away ; 
So the beauties, so the graces 
Of the most bewitching faces 

At approaching age decay. 

As a tyrant when degraded 
Is despis'd and is upbraided 

By the slaves he once control'd ; 
So the nymph, if none could move her. 
Is condemn'd by every lover 

When her charms are growing old. 

Melancholic looks and whining. 
Grieving, quarrelling and pining 

Are th^ effects your rigours move ; 
Soft caresses, amorous glances. 
Melting sighs, transporting trances, 

Are the blest effects of love. 

Fair ones, while your beauty's blooming 
Use your time, lest age resuming 

What your youth profusely lends. 
You are robb'd of all your glories 
And condemn'd to tell old stories 

To your unbelieving friends. 



248 AMATORY SONGS. 



Celia, too late you would repent ; 

The offering" all your store 
Is now but like a pardon sent 

To one that's dead before. 

While at first you cruel proved. 

And g-rant the bliss too late. 
You hinder'd me of one I loved 

To give me one 1 hate. 

I thoug-ht you innocent as fair. 

When first my court I made ; 
But when your falsehoods plain appear, 

My love no longer stay'd. 

Your bounty of those favours shown 

Whose worth you first deface. 
Is melting valued medals down. 

And giving us the brass. 

Oh ! since the thing we beg 's a toy. 

By lovers prized alone. 
Why cannot women grant the joy 

Before our love is gone ? 

Walsk. 



AMATORY SONGS. ^249 



If the quick ^irlt of your eye. 
Now languish, and anon must die ; 
If every sweet and every grace 
Must fly from that forsaken face ; 
Then, Ce lia, let us reap our joys 
Ere time such goodly fruit destroys. 

Or if that golden fleece must grow 

For ever free from aged snow ; 

If those bright suns must know no shade, 

Nor your fresh beauty ever fade ; 

Then, Celia, fear not to bestow 

What still being gathered, still must grow. 

Thus either Time his sickle brings 
In vain, or else in vain his wings. 

Carew. 



Late when love I seem'd to slight, 
Phyllis smiled, as well she might ; 

" Now," said she, " our throne may tremble. 
Men our province now invade, 
Men take up our royal trade. 

Men, even men, do now dissemble, 
n the dust our empire 's laid," 
21* 



250 AMATORY SONGS). 

Tutor'd by the wise and grave. 
Loth I was to be a slave ; 

Mistress sounded arbitrary; 
So I chose to hide my flame 
Friendship, a discreeter name ; 

But she scorns one jot to vary. 
She will love, or nothing, claim. 

Be a lover, or pretend, 

Rather than the warmest friend ; 

Friendship of another kind is, 
Sv»^edish coin of gross allay, 
A cart-load will scarce defray ; 

Love, one grain is worth the Indies, 
Only love is current pay. 



Ah ! Chlohis, could I now but sit 

As unconcern 'd as when 
Your infant beauty could beget 

No happiness nor pain ! 
When I this dawning did admire. 

And praised the coming day, 
I little thought that rising fire 

Would take my rest away. 

Your charms in harmless childhood Uy 

As metals in a mine ; 
Age from no face takes more away 

Than vouth conceaPd in thine : 



AMATORY SONGS. 

But as your charms insensibly 
To their perfection prest, 

So love, as unperceived, did fly. 
And centred in my breast. 

My passion with your beauty grew. 

While Cupid, at my heart.. 
Still as his mother favoured you. 

Threw a new flaming dart ; 
Each gloried in their wanton part ; 

To make a beauty, she 
Employ'dthe utmost of her art; 

To make a lover, he. 



Say, lovely dream, where couldst thou find 
Shadows to counterfeit that face ? 
Colours of this glorious kind 

Come not from any mortal place. 

In heaven itself thou sure wert drest 
With that angel-like disguise ; 
Thus deluded am I blest. 

And see my joy with closed eyes. 

But ah ; this image is too kind 
To be other than a dream ! 
Cruel Sacgharissa's mind 
Kever put on that sweet extreme. 



252 AMATORY SONGS. 

Fair dream, if thou intend'st me grace. 
Change that heavenly face of thine ; 
Paint despised love in thy face. 

And make it to appear like mine. 

Pale, wan, and meagre let it look. 
With a pity-moving shape. 
Such as wander by the brook 

Of Lethe, or from graves escape. 

Then to that matchless nymph appear. 
In whose shape thou shinest so. 
Softly in her sleeping ear 

With humble words express my woe. 

Perhaps from greatness, state, and pride. 
Thus surprised she may fall : 
Sleep does disproportion hide. 

And, death resembling, equals all. 



Waller. 



She loves, and she confesses too ; 
Then there's at last no more to do ; 
The happy work's entirely done. 
Enter the town which thou hast won. 
The fruits of conquest now begin, 
I9 triumfhe, enter in. 



AMATORY SONGS. 255 

What's this, ye g-ods, what can it be ? 
Remains there still an enemy ? 
Bold Honour stands up in the g'ate. 
And would yet capitulate. 
Have I o'ercome all real foes. 
And shall this phantom me oppose ? 

l&foisy nothing", stalking* shade. 

By what witchcraft wert thou made ? 

Empty cause of solid harms ! 

But I shall find out counter charms, 

Thy airy devilship to remove 

From this circle here of love. 

Sure I shall rid myself of thee 
By the nig'ht's obscurity. 
And obscurer secrecy. 
Unlike to every other spright, 
Thou attempt'st not men t' affright. 
Nor appear'st, but in the light. 



Cowley. 



'Tis now, since I sat down before 

That foolish fort, a heart, 
(Time strangly spent) a year and more. 

And still I did my part ; 

Made my approaches, from her hand 

Unto her lip did rise, 
And did already understand 

The language of her eyes ; 



254 AMATORY SONGS. 

Proceeded on with no less art. 

My tongue was engineer ; 
I thought to undermine the heart 

By whispering in the ear. 

When this did nothing, I brought down 
Great cannon oaths, and shot 

A thousand thousand to the town. 
And still it yielded not. 

I then resolved to starve the place 

By cutting off all kisses. 
Praising and gazing on her face. 

And all such little blisses. 

To draw her out and from her strength, 

I drew all batteries in ; 
And brought myself to lie at length 

As if no siege had been. 

When I had done what man could do. 
And thought the place my own, 

The enemy lay quiet too. 
And smiled at all was done. 

I sent to know from whence, and where, 
These hopes, and this relief: 

A spy inform'd. Honour was there. 
And did command in chief. 



AMATORY SONGS. 255 

March, march, (quoth I) the word straight give, 

Let's lose no time but leave her ; 
That giant upon air will live. 

And hold it out forever. 

To such a place our camp remove 

As will no siege abide ; 
I hate a fool that starves her love 

Only to feed her pride. 

Suckling, 



Pursuing beauty, men descry 

The distant shore, and long to prove 

(Still richer in variety) 

The treasures of the land of love. 

We women like weak Indians stand. 
Inviting from our golden coast 

The wandering rovers to our land; 
But she who trades with them is lost. 

With humble vows they first begin. 
Stealing unseen into the heart; 

But by possession settle in. 
They quickly act another part. 

For beads and baubles we resio-n 

o 

]n ignorance our shining store; 
Discover nature's richest mine, 

And yet the tvra?its will have more. 



256 AMATORY SONGS. 

Be wise, be wise, and do not try- 
How he can court, or you be won ; 

For love is but discovery ; 

When that is made, the pleasure's done. 



Come, tell me where th2 maid is found 
Whose heart can love without deceit. 

And I will range the world around. 
To sigh one moment at her feet. 

Oh ! tell me where's her sainted home. 
What air receives her blessed sigh, 

A pilgrimage of years I'll roam 
To catch one sparkle of her eye ! 

And if her cheek be rosy bright. 
While truth within her bosom lies, 

I'll gaze upon her morn and night. 
Till my heart leave me thro' my eyes ! 

Show me on earth a thing so rare, 

ril own all miracles are true : 
To make one mind sincere and fair. 

Oh ! 'tis the utmost Heaven can do! 

T.ITTLE 



AMATORY SONGS, 257 



Stella and Flavia every hour 

Do various hearts surprise ; 
In Stella's soul is all her power. 

And Flavia's in her eyes. 
More boundless Flavia's conquests are. 

And Stella's more confined ; 
All can discern a face that's fair. 

But few a heavenly mind. 

Stella like Britain's monarch reigns 

O'er cultivated lands ; 
Like eastern tyrants Flavia deigns 

To rule o'er barren sands. 
Then boast, fair Flavia, boast thy face. 

Thy beauty's only store, 
Each day that makes thy charms decrease 

Will yield to Stella more. 

Mrs. Pilkington. 



Chloris, yourself you so excel. 

When you vouchsafe to breathe my thought. 
That, like a spirit, with this spell 

Of my own teaching 1 am caught. 

The eagle's fate and mine are one. 
Which on the shaft that made him die 

Espied a feather of his own, 
Wherewiih he used to soar so high. 
2% 



258 AMATORY SONGS. 

Had Echo with so sweet a grace 

Narcissus' loud complaints return'd. 

Not for reflection of his face, 

But of his voice, the boy had burn'd. 

Waller. 



In vain, dear Chloe, you suggest 
That I inconstant have possest 

Or loved a fairer she ; 
Would you with ease at once be cured 
Of all the ills youVe long endured. 

Consult your glass, and me. 

If then you think that I can find 

A nymph more fair or one more kind. 

You've reason for your fears ; 
But if impartial you will prove 
To your own beauty or my love. 

How needless are your tears ! 

If in my way I should by chance 
Receive or give a wanton glance, 

I like but while I view ; 
How slight the glance, how faint the kiss, 
Compared to that substantial bliss 

Which I receive from you I 

With wanton flight the curious bee 
From flower to flower still wanders free. 



AMATORY SONGS. 259 

And, where each blossom blows. 
Extracts the juice from all he meets ; 
But, for his quintessence of sweets. 

He ravishes the rose. 

So, ray fond fancy to employ 
On each variety of joy. 

From nymph to nymph I roam ; 
Perhaps see fifty in a day : 
These are but visits that I pay. 

For Chloe is my home. 

Sir W. Yonge. 



Should some perverse malignant star 
(As envious stars will sometimes shine) 

Throw me from my Florella far. 
Let not my lovely fair repine 

If in her absence I should gaze 

With pleasure on another's face. 

The weared pilgrim, when the sun 

Has ended his diurnal race, 
With pleasure sees the friendly moon. 

By borrow'd light, supply his place : 
Not that he slights the God of day. 
But loves e'en his reflected ray. 



260 AMATORY SONGS. 



Have you not seen the timid tear 

Steal trembling from mine eye ? 
Have you not mark'd the flush of fear. 

Or caught the murmur'd sigh ? 
And can you think my love is chill. 

Nor fixt on*you alone ? 
And can you rend, by doubting still, 

A heart so much your own ? 

To you my soul's affections move 

Devoutly, warmly true ; 
My life has been a task of love. 

One long long thought of you. 
If all your tender faith is o'er. 

If still my truth you'll try, 
Alas ! I know but one proof more— 

ril bless your name and die. 

LiTTtE. 



Why will Florella, while I gaze. 

My ravisht eyes reprove, 
And chide them from the only face 

They can behold with love ? 

To shun your scorn, and ease my care, 

I seek a nymph more kind, 
And wl)ile I rove from fair to fair 

Still gentle usage find. 



AMATORY SONGS. 261 

But oh ! how faiiit is every joy 

Where nature has no part ! 
New beauties may my eyes employ. 

But you engage my heart. 

So restless exiles doom'd to roam 

Meet pity every where ; 
Yet languish for their native home, 

Tho' death attends them there.* 



* This song, closed by a beautiful and happy simile, may 
be regarded as a perfect model of the ingenious class. 



THE END. 



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